


Twin Lions

by ManyKittyBiscuits, Vulkan192



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Brothers, Eventual Romance, Gay Rights, Romance, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-09-06 17:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManyKittyBiscuits/pseuds/ManyKittyBiscuits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulkan192/pseuds/Vulkan192
Summary: Lianthorn Lavellan, previously an assassin that operated in the Tevinter Imperium, follows a target to the Conclave. The sole survivor of a catastrophic explosion, he awakens with no memory of the event and a strange new power in the palm of his hand. With it, he is raised - willing or no - to the position of Thedas’ last hope for salvation.A long lost friend reaches out and offers his assistance to the Inquisition, a man who quickly becomes Lian's closest companion, brother and mentor: Marius Trevelyan, the Champion of Ostwick. Together, they work to stop Corypheus and save a world poised at the edge of the abyss.





	1. Chapter 1

“Papa, I found this, can I keep him?”

Turning from the post he’d been practicing his swordwork against, Bann Esterad Trevelyan expected to see his youngest son - who’d been given one day’s liberty of the city for excelling at his training recently - holding a dog or a cat or perhaps even a bird. He was not holding any of those things. Instead the young boy, already considerably tall for his age, was holding a small elven boy in his arms. He was in fact profferring the little elf towards his father. 

“Marius, that is an Elf. You can’t keep him,” Bann Esterad studied the boy closely, noting the well-kept and handmade clothing he was wearing. He chuckled briefly, before his smile faded with the sound. “Where did you find him? His parents will be concerned about his whereabouts.” 

Before his son could answer, the Bann squatted down and levelled his eyes with the young elf’s dark blue ones. “What is your name, child?”

“Lianforn Lavellan,” He answered as politely as he could but was starting to squirm and felt shy. “Can you put me down now Marius?” 

For reasons neither of the two boys could understand, the Bann’s face became as hard as granite. And when he spoke there was not the amusement of a father or the beneficence of an - admittedly unintended - host. There was only the coldness of a Lord, the authority of a commander. “Marius, take him back to where you found him. Now.”

Marius’ back stiffened at the words and his father’s tone. That was the voice that brooked no disobedience or protest, the one that defying would result only in punishment. “Yes, papa.” with that, he set the little elf on his feet, before turning him around to face him. Holding out a hand, he smiled. “Come on, let's go find your parents.”

Lian took his new friend’s hand readily and the two sprinted off. As they approached the gates they found two guards and an elf couple arguing. 

“I saw one of you bring him back here!”

“Karrell...” Her husband rested his hands on her shoulders and attempted to comfort her. 

“He’s our son! He’s… he’s…” The woman was hysterical. “Lian? Lian is that you?” Her sobs subsided and she knelt down to meet Lian, as he ran to her and she hugged him tightly. 

“I missed you,” Lian smiled up at her as the man, beside her, leant down to ruffle Lian’s hair. His parents stood up, apologising to the guards and turning to leave when Lian turned back to his new friend. He frowned, finding himself sad to be leaving. Despite the scare that his parents may not have found him, he and Marius Trevelyan had quite the adventure. He remembered something and broke away from his parents, astonishing them. 

“Lian!” His mother protested for a moment. 

The little elf ran back to Marius and hugged him. “Thanks for the adventure,” He smiled up before withdrawing and retrieving something from the satchel that was fastened around his hip. “Here. Take it. I don’t want you to forget me,” He held out his hand with his palm facing up. In his palm was a small, flat and slightly misshapen pale stone with Dalish carvings in it. 

Marius stared at the stone held in the little elf's hand, his eyes devouring the symbols carved into it and his young mind racing to discern their meaning. Picking it up, he held it to the fading sunlight, before smiling and looking back down at his new friend.

"Thank you." he said, nodding his head.

Then, putting the stone into the wallet that hung from his belt, he put his hands to his cloak and deftly unfastened the brooch. that held it. Slipping the pin from the white wool, he refastened it and then held it out towards Lian. Even in the dim sunlight, the rearing horse - the sigil of House Trevelyan - fashioned of white gold glinted and gleamed. 

"A gift for a gift." he explained, simply. “So you don’t forget me either.”

The smaller boy cradled the brooch tenderly for a moment, staring at it with wide eyes and his mouth agape. When he looked back up at Marius his big blue eyes were sparkling. He managed to close his mouth, though he was still smiling widely with dimpled cheeks. He tucked his new treasure into his satchel before running back to his mother, turning his head back to Marius as she picked him up and he waved. 

“Good bye, Marius!” He called out over her shoulder. 

Smiling after the little elf, Marius raised a hand. His voice already in the midst of being trained to carry across a battlefield, he called after the retreating trio. "Goodbye, Lian! Until we meet again,"

He kept waving until his new friend and his parents passed from view. Then, turning, he looked up at where Ranulf had stepped up beside him, his crumpled and dirtied cloak folded over one arm. "I did well, Ranulf?"

Looking down at him, his valet put a hand to his shoulder. "You did very well, young master. The gift was a noble one." turning them both around, the older man smiled. "Come, let us return to your father."

Going along with him, easily matching the longer stride, Marius chuckled to himself. "I just thought of something."

"Oh?" Ranulf's voice was intrigued. 

"Golden hair, blue eyes." Marius explained. "It was almost like he was my little brother."

Chuckling at this weighty pronouncement of his young Lord, Ranulf put a hand to the boys back as the two of them made their way towards the estate of House Trevelyan.


	2. Chapter 2

Lian sat at his desk, running his thumb gently over the surface of the white gold horse in hand. Truthfully he couldn’t quite remember how old he was when the boy had given him the pendant. He rubbed his temple with his free hand as he thought. Perhaps if he established a timeline? Blackfeather, his trainer, had made him aware that he’d spent ten years within the borders of the Tevinter Imperium… so he would have been fifteen before… The growing discomfort of half-buried memories made him unconsciously clench his hands. The cool brooch in his hand pulling him quickly from his thoughts as he loosened his grip on it and feared he may have damaged it. He studied the horse carefully, noting the perfect little details from the shape and carving of the horse’s eye to the waves of its mane. He sighed with relief once he was sure it still maintained its original shape and set it down gently on the desk before returning his attention to the parchment before him.   
  
“Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wished only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us only as potential victims.

It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. We find it highly unlikely that he intentionally violated your customs. If he has been charged with a crime, we would appreciate hearing of it. If not, it would ease our concerns to hear from him to know that he remains with the Inquisition of his own will.

We await your reply,

Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan”

Vishante Kaffas. The elf snorted and rolled his eyes. It was just like Istimaethorial to do something like this. He hadn’t been a part of Clan Lavellan for over ten years now. And the keeper had the audacity to send a letter like this. How did she even learn of him being here? 

“Your people must be handled delicately,” Josephine spoke gently. 

“You’re absolutely right about that,” He sighed, exasperated and rolled his eyes as he spoke. “Keeping up appearances is important right? Have one of your elven scribes write something nice about how they are being treated. Let them know the bare minimum about me,”

Josephine nodded, scribbling something down on the clipboard she always had in hand. 

“Your next matter is meeting with Ser Marius Trevelyan of Ostwick. He wishes to meet with you in person, my lord,”  
  
“When?”

“Now, my lord. He should be here any minute,”

“Alright,” Lian stood up, following Josephine out the door. She lead him out of the chantry and past the large tents and small homes. The elf would never get used to the idea that simply walking around would cause any pilgrim or soldier to turn and stare at him as he made his way to Haven’s front gates. Two soldiers stationed at the towering wooden doors pushed them open for him as he approached. A small greeting winnie brought a smile to his face as he turned to his left where their small, makeshift stable was. Munchy, his red hart had spotted him and was now doing his happy dance. The people around the stables were used to it by now and only took some cautionary steps backwards as the hart kicked the air. 

“He wanted to meet here?” Lian double checked with Josephine. Who answered with a ‘yes’.

Before he could ask another question or even say anything, a horn broke the stillness of the mountain air. Long and loud the note held, an announcement and a warning. Then he heard it, the rumble of what seemed like distant thunder. But then it grew and grew, swelling and deepening into a sound like the pounding of the greatest battle drums. Beneath his feet, he felt the earth begin to shake and then, at last, he saw the cause of such a cacophony. 

Around the bend in the road they came, rank after rank. Armoured men on armoured horses. Ten, twenty, fifty. Lian could count over three hundred horsemen at they very least. Even riding at a gallop, they were organised, their horses moving in perfect step, no man breaking the formation. At their lead there seemed what to be a giant, clad in glinting golden armour and mounted upon a massive white stallion. 

The armoured titan swept up a gauntleted fist and the riders sawed at their reins, bringing their animals to a complete and disciplined stop within a dozen paces of him and Josephine. Like armoured statues they stood and, now close enough to pick out details, Lian found his amazement at these horsemen mounting. Every man he could see had to be at least six foot tall, and each mount a minimum of eighteen hands. But for their leader, both men and horses were fully armoured in blackened plate from head to foot, each horse in heavy barding that would probably stop even the most well-aimed shaft. The horses, already impressive in their size and strength, were lent an even more fearsome aspect by the designs of their chamfrons, which with curling horns or jagged spikes made them seem more like dragons or demons.

Without warning, the golden figure at their head walked his magnificent white stallion forward. His golden armour glinted in the sunlight as he pulled his helmet, which was shaped into the form of a roaring lion, from his head. Resting it on his saddle horn, the man swept his coif of gilded mail and arming cap from his head, exposing a head of golden locks and a thick, if short, beard. 

“Hail to you, Herald!” the man’s voice was a booming bass rumble as he inclined his head respectfully. “I am Ser Marius Trevelyan, son of Bann Esterad Trevelyan. My father has commanded me here to lend what help I can to the Inquisition and by the Maker, I am glad to give it.” 

Lian found himself speechless. He just stood there staring at Ser Marius and his legion. Josephine tried nudging him to get him to say something, to no avail. In the end, she stepped forward, only the slightest tremor in her voice if one had the skill to hear. 

“Hail and well met, Ser Trevelyan.” she said as the golden figure dismounted, an act that did little to diminish the impression of sheer titanic size. “Your assistance and that of your father is greatly appreciated. Welcome to the Inquisition.” turning, Josephine gracefully gestured towards him. “May I present Lianthorn Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste.” 

At her words, the good humour faded from the face of the armoured giant, the bearded countenance becoming solemn. When he spoke again, somber respect flowed through his voice. “Herald, it is an honour.” then, with an easy grace despite his armour, he knelt, bowing his head. “I will serve as best I can, both you and our Lady above.” 

“You’re… really tall,” Lian blurted. His eyes had gradually expanding in shock and his brows flew up when Josephine gave him a disapproving nudge. “I mean-uh-,” He cleared his throat and stood straight, tucking his hands politely behind his back. “I and the Inquisition are grateful to have you,” 

Josephine nodded at Lian in approval this time and scribbled something down. ‘Teach Lord Lavellan proper etiquette’ He read. He would have rolled his eyes at that but he couldn’t deny that he needed some help in being more polite and approachable. He instead gave Josephine a playful raised brow.

Chuckling, the armoured giant rose to his feet. “And I am happy to be had, Herald.” turning slightly, he beckoned to two of the riders behind him who walked their horses forward and doffed their helmets. “May I introduce Ser Gregor Merrick, Captain of my Ironsides.” 

The man to whom he gestured was a hard-faced man whose appearances might once have been comely, had not decades of war and hardship laid their hands upon it. Yet his eyes were not cruel and his expression respectful as he bowed his head and greeted Lian with a quiet. “My Lord.” 

“And this is Ranulf, my valet, counsellor, and truest friend.” Ser Marius said, indicating the second of the two men. In comparison to the Captain the second man was older and leaner, with a bald pate that was revealed as he pushed both coif and arming cap from his head. While by no means weak, the beneficence in the man’s eyes and in the curl of his slight smile seemed somewhat at odds with his martial panoply and barded horse. “He’s also the man that makes sure I always have socks. Damned important duty, that.” At the jape, the older man’s slight smile broadened and he bowed his head in respect to both his master’s words and Lian himself. 

“And this,” Ser Marius swept an arm to encompass the massed ranks of horsemen. “collection of madmen and hardcases are my Ironsides, the pride of House Trevelyan’s army and the best shock troops in all of Thedas. Whether on a horse, lance in hand, or scaling a siege ladder, my lads are the tip of a spear ready to be rammed into an enemy’s guts.” Pitching his voice to carry, the big man bellowed out a single word, thrusting an armoured fist into the air. “Ironsides!” 

A full-throated roar of acclamation resounded through the valley, the cavalrymen stabbing their lances into the sky. 

Turning back to the pair of them with a broad, almost doting, grin upon his face, Ser Marius’ eyes met those of Lian. They were very blue, alive with light. “Think you can find room for us, Herald?” 

Oh shit. I hadn’t even thought of that. The elf blinked a few times and Josephine rolled her eyes subtly at him as she gave him another hard nudge. 

“Absolutely! It’s an honour to meet all of you,” He bowed in turn to Marius and his men. I’m in over my head. What have I gotten myself into? Lian wondered to himself, scratching the back of his head nervously. Despite having three advisers he really felt like he’d been thrown into the deep end of a pool without having any knowledge of how to swim. 

“Lady Montilyet will show you to where you’ll be staying. I hope it’s suitable,” Lian nodded respectfully as he turned to leave.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” 

As Marius, Josephine and the Ironsides made their way through the large front doors of Haven they turned to the left just up the wooden steps, that looked more like planks partially buried in dirt. Earlier Josephine had instructed a group of recruits to help clear the cabins and relocate to other parts of Haven so that the Ironsides may be housed closer together. Haven was a small settlement really and the Inquisition did its best with what it had. Bunk beds had been assembled in each of the three cabins as well as the Chantry. Extra tents were also set up around the building.

Truth be told, Lian had no clue how they’d all fit in Haven. He was glad to have reinforcements but found himself stressing over what they thought of him. What if he wasn’t what they expected or hoped to find? Would they leave? He pondered as he rested the back of his head against a pine tree, letting the sun wash over his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Sat in his folding campaign chair, Marius Trevelyan stared into the flames of the fire burning in the hearth before him, his thumb idly running over the small, flat and slightly misshapen pale stone that had been one of his few constant possessions in the years since he’d been given it by a little elven boy he’d shared a childhood adventure with. His thoughts were, as usual when he was under arms, on the disposition of his forces. 

In keeping with his long-standing tradition, he’d made sure his Ironsides were bedded down for the evening - some in barracks within Haven itself and others encamped just beyond Haven’s frankly paltry walled perimeter - their horse lines set and armour stowed, before accompanying Lady Josephine Montilyet to this small cabin inside Haven’s walls. He’d have been more than happy to sleep in barracks or camp out with his men, but the Lady Ambassador had politely insisted that it would not be appropriate for an honoured guest such as he to simply bed down in the snow. He’d not had either the heart or will to refuse her, the Ironsides would understand, they’d known him too long to think him soft. 

Having tended to the one room dwelling with his usual exactness - laying out his baggage, arranging his campaign furniture, making sure everything was just so - Ranulf had gone out to ascertain the lay of the land, as well as acquire some hot food and see if there was any wine to be had. There was after all a tavern within the heart of the religious enclave. Which was all to the good. 

Thoughts of the tavern drew Marius’ thoughts from his men to more idle considerations. The barmaid at the tavern - Flissa, he remembered - was a likely looking lass, but as ever he would not pursue. Not once in his life had he ever sought a bedmate in which the gap between their standing was so great. Not out of some almost-Orlesian sense of snobbery, but simply because he wanted to always know that a partner was in his bed because they wanted to be, not because they thought they had to. 

Consigning Flissa to be nothing more than a valued purveyor of strong alcohol, his lips kinked as he let his mind run on over those in Haven who definitely did meet that standard. Lady Jospehine was a fine-looking woman, seemingly the soul of politeness. Beyond her there was the Inquisition’s commander, Ser Cullen. Now he was something. But there was also a shadow behind his eyes that Marius knew well, which would not lend itself to a bit of mutual merriment. If the man’s tastes even ran that way. And then there was the Seeker, Lady Cassandra Pentaghast…

His ruminations on the strong and decidedly lovely member of the Royal House of Nevarra were cut short as, behind him, there was a knock on the door. It was a different rhythm to that which Ranulf habitually used, delivered with less force. 

“Come in!” he called, looking over his shoulder, his thumb still rubbing idly at the inscribed stone he had in his hand. 

Lian peeked his head half way through the door, hesitating for a moment before entering. He closed the door quietly. 

“Hi… I know it’s kinda late but I was. Hoping to speak with you, if that’s alright, Ser Trevelyan,” He stood almost awkwardly in front of the door with his hands tucked politely behind his back. His brows furrowed when his gaze drifted from the other man’s face to the stone held in his hand. 

“Of course, Herald.” Marius answered, standing up and turning to face the elf in a gesture of respect. Then, following his eyes, chuckled as he looked down at the stone. “Oh, this? A gift from an elven boy I met when I was a child, given as a keepsake and memento of a day spent adventuring across Ostwick.” stepping forward, he proffered it to the Herald. “It has some of your people’s writing on it, if you want to take a look. I always meant to find out what the inscriptions meant, never found the time.”

He smiled and took the stone gently, running his fingers over the crude carvings. “May the Creators watch over you,” He held the stone for a moment longer before passing it back to Marius. Lian took a deep breath. That memory was as clear as day. No matter how many years went by. Admittedly, his most cherished memory and he had too few of them. 

Back then the only thing he was worried about was how he would find his way home. He’d wandered off too far. He was chasing colourful birds and before he knew it he was near the edge of a city. It was then he met his, soon to be, new friend. He must have been only eight years old, he didn’t know what to do but cry when Marius approached him. The taller boy extended a helping hand and before long they had explored almost every inch of the city. 

Lian reached into his pocket, retrieving the keepsake he’d been given in return. He revealed the white gold brooch. It was in a remarkable condition for the time that had passed since then.

“I’ve been too afraid to wear it, someone might’ve tried to take it. But I always kept it on me,” He couldn’t bring himself to look up at Marius and a small smile graced his trembling lips. 

For a long moment, Marius simply stared at the white gold pin he’d given away years ago and never expected to see again. His eyes took in every detail, every minute facet of the sigil of his house. Then, looking up, he stared at the Herald and - in his mind - began to strip away time, removing the years of hardship he read in those blue eyes, until at last he saw again the child he had known, who he had pulled laughing to the roofs of buildings and who had leapt beside him from the walls of the city into a thatcher’s hay bales after they were pursued by the city guards for being somewhere they shouldn’t. And, for the first time in years, he remembered the name of the elven boy who had been his friend. 

Lian. 

He began to laugh, a low chuckle at first but it quickly grew into a great roar of commingled amusement and delight. Stepping forward, little caring for propriety, he enfolded the elf in a bear hug, lifting him up before setting him back down on the ground. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, still laughing. “The Maker has a sense of humour. I never expected to see you again, let alone like this.” he gestured towards the fire, where another chair stood beside his folding campaign seat. “Come, come, sit you down and let’s talk. Ranulf’ll be back with food and wine soon enough. Maker’s Breath but this is a surprise.”

The elf drew in a shaky breath and sniffed. “I never thought I’d see you again either,” He barely opened his mouth and must’ve been about to say something, but no words left his lips. He only managed to search Marius’s face. “You… have a lot of hair now,” He gestured with his hands over his jaw. "And you got even taller!"

Marius barked another laugh, the sound ringing through the cabin as he led the elf towards the waiting chairs. “Taller, hairier, and - of course - stronger. You know they call me ‘The Lion of Ostwick’ now?” Retaking his seat in his campaign chair, he sighed. “It’s been a long road since that day we spent scampering all over the city.”

“That must’ve been… more than ten years ago now,” Lian smiled. “‘The Lion of Ostwick’ huh? Has a nice ring to it. People are calling me ‘The Herald of Andraste’. Though I suppose you know that already. You have quite the legion, Marius. How did that happen?”

Marius chuckled. “You must not have hung around Ostwick, to ask that. My House - House Trevelyan - has long served as Ostwick’s primary military force. We serve the Teyrn and lead his armies, most of which are formed of our own men. At the age of sixteen, my father granted me command of half the house’s forces, which I turned into a fighting force unmatched in Thedas - if I say so myself. A few years later, with a few campaigns under my belt, he granted me total command - if still under his authority. My Ironsides are my pride and joy, but every man under my command is a fine fighter who both knows and does his duty.” he paused then, thinking. “If you like, I could help your Commander Cullen do the same here with the Inquisition, along with helping shore up this little enclave’s defences. Give me a month and I can turn this fortified village of yours into an iron-plated rock for your enemies to dash their brains against.” 

“We need all the help we can get!” He chuckled softly and stared into the flames briefly before turning his gaze back to the taller man. “Y’know… for a long time my two closest friends- one has a fur coat and antlers and the other is. Well. She doesn’t have a sense of humour. It’s been a while. Since I’ve really talked with someone,” He scratched the back of his neck as he dropped his gaze.

Marius blinked. The boy he had known had been shy at first, but had still been kind and funny and brave. How could he have so few companions? What sort of path had led him here, with that all too-familiar look behind his eyes. He shook the thought away, it didn’t matter right this moment. Answers to questions like that could wait. 

“Well then,” he smiled, clapping a big hand to Lian’s shoulders. “You have a lot of catching up to do then. Just as well I like talking almost as much as I like fighting, learning, drinking, and bedding, eh?” He laughed again, the noise punctuated by a more familiar knocking. “And perfect timing, there’s Ranulf.” 

Sure enough, at Marius’ call, his aged valet and true friend entered, expertly balancing a tray upon which were two bowls of something hot and steaming, a small platter of meats, bread, and cheeses, and a large jug with two goblets, along with some pastries.

At the older man’s appearance, Marius indicated Lian. “Look who it is, Ranulf! And you won’t believe it, but-”

“But this Lianthorn Lavellan - now the Herald of Andraste - is the same Lianthorn who you once asked your Lord Father to be allowed to keep?” the question was delivered with the utmost propriety, but there was the familiar slight tilt to Ranulf’s lips that betrayed the playful teasing that long years of familiarity had allowed to develop between the two of them. “I believe it, in fact I know it.” with the selfsame propriety, this time devoid of any hint of humour, he bowed his head. “Good evening, my Lord Herald.” 

"Good evening, Ranulf? Is...it okay for me to call you by name too?" 

Ranulf’s nod was shallower this time. “Perfectly so, my lord. I have no title, after all, besides being my Lord Marius’ valet. And it is much better than being referred to as ‘you’, or simply not addressed at all.” stepping across the cabin’s main room, the bald-pated servant continued. “I saw you approaching my Lord’s lodgings and so obtained some refreshments for yourself as well.” depositing the tray on the table between the two chairs, he began laying out the things with a swift exactitude. “The stew - I am led to believe - is venison, the meats beef and smoked chicken, for there was no salted pork to be had. The cheeses are all Fereldan, but the wine is from Verchiel. As for pastries, as you can see I was able to acquire some of the local honeycake and shortbreads. I hope it will be satisfactory, my Lords?” 

"It's more than satisfactory, it's amazing! T-thank you! " The elf’s eyes were round, as if he almost couldn't believe what had just happened. He started digging into the beef. After a few mouthfuls and in between another, he covered his mouth as he looked at Marius. "So you've been really busy then. How do you find the time to do all that stuff?" 

Marius, taking a swig of wine to wash down some of the stew, smiled and shrugged. “Just the life of a noble, I’m afraid. It’s not as if I work for a living. Unless I’m on campaign, my days are my own: days to spend hunting or fighting in tourney.” he smirked then. “Or wooing.”

For a little time, the two reunited friends sat in companionable silence, devouring the veritable feast spread before them, the only words exchanged requests for something to be passed over or an inquiry if one or the other was done with something. Marius had to admit, the ferocity with which Lian attacked the good things amazed him, it being at pace with his own voracious appetite. In time - albeit quite a short time - the hot foods were cleared away, with only the cheeses and sweeter things remaining to ‘fill up the corners’. With that, conversation properly resumed.

“So tell me,” Marius said, leaning over to fill Lian’s goblet before he replenished his own. “what have you been up to?”

His question, surprisingly, seemed to freeze the elf in place, one hand outstretched to seize another slice of honeycake. “Ah.” After a long moment, the hand drew back. “Well, it’s better to talk about it now, I suppose. Better you decide if you still want to be friends with me now rather than later.” With a heavy sigh, he began his tale.

“When I turned fifteen I kinda left my clan and I didn’t know where to go. We’d already moved so many times that I wouldn’t have known how to get back to your city. I-I didn’t know where else to go. I got lost outrunning wolves and a bear. Then I wound up in a Tevinter City- not that I knew it was Tevinter at the time. Then I got knocked out by someone and when I woke up I was in some kind of old prison dungeon place… and they were about to impale me through the chest with some red crystal thing. It was really creepy- I swear I could hear it calling to me. Before they could do that though... I was saved by Blackfeather,”

Marius wanted to interject, to stop him there. He knew the name Blackfeather, had heard the tale told around campfires and - reluctantly - read of it in books on Tevinter folklore. An archer, a legend, who left eponymous raven feathers on the bodies of her victims, who were always of the worse sort. But the legends had started long before any person now living had even been a twinkle in the eye of their great-great-grandfather. So how on earth had Lian met-?   
  
He shook the questions away, focussing on the now. 

“I’d almost given up hope but I heard this… faint whistle in the air before one of my captors fell to the ground. Then I saw her. So small… and yet the most powerful force in the room. She gave me hope, so I slipped out of my restraints and helped her take the two, that were left, down. She killed them and told me to get out, but I followed her. I had nowhere else to go. She refused at first but I wouldn’t quit. I kind of owe her a lot… wow. Talking to someone shouldn’t be this hard, n-not that you’re just anyone,” Flustered, Lian reached for his goblet, drained it, then poured himself another drink somewhat quickly and took another huge gulp. Marius smiled at the way the Verchiel wrinkled his nose. 

“I just needed something for the nerves.” he explained, hesitantly. “I hear alcohol helps with that…” It certainly seemed to help in the case now, as the rest of the story came tumbling out in an almost manic rush.

“After I left the clan I didn’t know what I was even going to do. I just knew I wanted to be… good. I wanted... to be someone my parents could be proud of. Black gave me a purpose and a way to do that so I spent the last five years stopping-killing abusive and corrupt Slavers in Tevinter. It was a little easier when I had time to gather proof that they needed to be stopped from hurting anyone else ever again but here… these people are just scared. And speaking of here. I was following a lead that brought me to the conclave. I don’t remember what happened exactly. Everytime I try to remember I just get an awful migraine. But what some people say could be true. Like that Roderick fellow. He thinks I’m responsible for the explosion that killed all of those people. I want to make it right. I have to be able to… and to answer the question on your face, she’s a spirit. Ashirill, the original Blackfeather, begged a spirit to take over her and continue fighting for what she believed in. That’s what she said anyway,” He finished off what was left in the goblet. “So… verdict? Do you still want to stay? Even though… I’m not the same person you knew?” 

For a long time - or what seemed it at least - Marius simply stared at the elf he’d known in boyhood. In a way, before his eyes, he did in reverse what had taken place when first Lian had revealed the truth of their connection. He took the image of the elven child he had known - at first scared, but then adventurous - and added on the years, added on the hardship he now knew of, until what remained was the warrior grown stood before him. 

It didn’t matter. He was still Lian. 

His tale was a strange one, to be true, one they would doubtless talk of more. But of all the things he could’ve expected, one that he had hoped beyond in the face of the younger elf’s hesitancy to talk was proved true: he was a good person. Just as he’d known him.

Standing up, he walked around the small table and knelt again as he had in the snow earlier that day, his eyes fixed on Lianthorn’s. “My verdict is this: we have both of us walked long roads to reach where we are now. But despite it all, I still see in you the laughing boy I pulled to the Chantry roof that day in Ostwick and my eye for the hearts of men has never been wrong before. If you will have me, I will stay. And if you wish it, I will again be that friend you made back when we were young.” 

"I'd really like that," The elf smiled back at him. 

Smiling back at him, Marius clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Then so be it. Where you lead, I will follow.” getting to his feet, he looked over at his valet, who was smiling slightly to himself. “Ranulf, more wine, if you would.” Sitting back down in his chair, he refilled Lian’s goblet with the last of the Verchiel. “My old friend and I have a lot to talk about.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Solas confirms that the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed. We have reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain but this was a Victory. Word of your heroism has spread,” Cassandra reported to Lian as she approached him. He was sitting on a short, stone wall watching the others celebrate and his gaze wandered skyward. It had grown considerably dark and looked like a storm would roll in and he couldn’t shake an ominous impression that it gave him. 

“It wasn’t just me, Cass. Without you, the mages and everyone else, we wouldn’t have been able to do it. And I’m no hero,” He still wasn’t sure if he was responsible for it-the Breach. If only he could remember. If he could know for certain that he was the cause of the explosion that levelled the Temple and killed all of those people, the beginning of the numerous rifts that had appeared beyond Ferelden. As Lian watched the residents of Haven celebrate with dancing, laughter and drinks around campfires he couldn’t shake his anxiety about what the future might hold. Yes, he’d closed the Breach… and yes, perhaps he was to blame. But who was that eerie, shadowed figure he saw? In the beginning, before he was named ‘Herald’ he was just a prisoner and the first time he approached the Breach it played a brief memory of what had happened there. In this memory Divine Justinia was being held captive by that very figure and Lian rushed in, not that he could remember it himself. 

A roar of triumph broke in upon his thoughts and, looking up, he saw that Marius - sat at one of the long trestle tables Flissa and her helpers had set up in the open for the celebrations - had just bested Ser Blackwall in a contest of arm-wrestling. The bearded Warden was rubbing at his arm, but smiled good-naturedly as his old friend clapped him on the back. Marius put a full mug of foaming ale into the Warden’s hand and then had one in turn put into his own by a reveller. With a salute to one another, the two men drank deep, draining their mugs with roars of triumph as around them the winnings from bets were being exchanged and fresh challenges made. If they wished to test the big man again, it seemed they would be disappointed.

As he watched, Marius rose from his bench and walked towards them. Along the way he snatched a jug of something and a few cups from a passing barmaid, to whom he winked his thanks. At the gesture, Lian noticed, the barmaid added a sway to her gait. 

Grinning, Marius drew to a halt below them and raised the jug like a soldier on parade would his sword. “Lian, come join us! This is your victory after all!” 

“Maybe next time, Marius. I’m kinda tired,” the words were true ones. His body ached as it seemingly never had before.

Marius laughed. “As you wish, my friend, no one could deny you a rest after fixing a sodding great hole in the sky. But what about you, Seeker Cassandra?” 

Next to him, Cassandra shook her head slightly. “I think not, Ser Marius. It is...not my place.”

“Nonsense!” Marius shook his head, the smile still broad upon his face. “Lian has told me of how you started the Inquisition. This is _ your _victory as much as anyone’s.” 

If he hadn't been looking, Lian wouldn’t have noticed the slight twitching of Cassandra’s lips. Even though he did, he still didn’t quite believe it. He’d never seen the Seeker smile. “Even still, I am not adept at such...merriment.” 

“Well that is easily remedied.” his friend’s voice had lost some of its boisterousness, but none of its warmth. “You and I shall find a quiet place to sit and talk, simply enjoying the evening and the ‘merriment’ of others. And if you wish this-” he paused then, to actually sniff what was in the jug he was holding. “_Wine _ smells more than drinkable.” 

Lian expected another refusal, so he was rather surprised when Cassandra nodded her head. “As you wish, Ser Marius.” his surprise only grew when she smiled. Properly. For longer than a heartbeat and everything. “I _ could _ do with a drink.” 

Curiously, Marius’ reaction was not as….Marius-y...as Lian had expected. His own smile was smaller, almost _ happier _somehow. With a final salute with his jug, which Lian met with a wave of fond farewell he walked away with the Seeker, passing her one of the cups as they went, already beginning to talk. Lian clasped his hands together beneath his chin, staring absently over the small town as he wondered what his next plan of action would be… or should be. He grimaced as he thought about how little he actually knew of leading and these people looked to him for guidance? Hope? And closing the Breach would most certainly only reinforce their belief. He let out a small sigh.

“I’ve heard very little about the Dalish,” 

Dorian’s voice broke Lian out of his thoughts and he swivelled his head to the older man. 

“Do all Dalish brood or is it just you?” Dorian asked as he leant against a tent post, crossing his arms over comfortably. 

“I’m not brooding,” Lian denied, turning back to the people. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice look on you,” 

“What?”

Before either of them could utter another word the watchtower bells began to ring loudly, startling the townspeople and they all grew quiet. In the absence of their cheers and laughter, a dense marching was heard. 

“Forces approaching! To arms!” Cullen shouted as he ran for the gates.

Cassandra snarled, drawing her sword. “Ser Marius! We must get to the gates!” The two rushed off and as they neared the front of Haven they spotted Lian and Cullen and Josephine talking and Lian spotted Marius from the corner of his eye. 

“Cullen’s watchmen reports that there’s a massive force approaching us, over the mountain,” He filled Marius in and was about to say something else when a large crack against Haven’s gates startled him. 

“I can’t come in unless you open!” A young man’s voice? Trapped out there? Lian moved quickly, opening the large wooden doors to find a Venatori Brute, but something was off about the man. He was staggering towards Lian before falling with a heavy thud into the snow. Behind him stood a pale man with, what looked like, a witchcap. He had two daggers in hand. Dangerous. Before Lian’s eyes fell on those daggers, freshly coated in blood, he hadn’t suspected that the man crying for help could be dangerous. 

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you-to help. People are coming to hurt you… You probably already know,” 

“Tell me what you know Cole, now and hurry. We don’t have much time,” What an odd man… but the man was young. Young enough that Lian had to remind himself to say ‘man’ as opposed to ‘boy’ 

“The templars come to kill you,” _ Me? _Cole was looking directly at Lian, almost boring into the elf’s blue eyes. 

“Templars!? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with mages?! Attacking blindly!?” The Commander sounded more exasperated than shocked. 

“The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages,” 

“There,” Cole pointed towards two figures that revealed themselves from behind a cliff edge outside of the barricades.

“_ Kaffas _ ,” Was all Lian managed to say as he followed Cole’s direction to the figure struck fear right into his heart. He couldn’t see very well, through storm that started, but he could have sworn there was red lyrium growing _ on _ the man-or creature- and there was something not quite human about its form. The arms and fingers were elongated and far too skinny. Is this the same figure that he saw in the dark future? He shook the thoughts away.

“Marius-Cullen- We need a plan! Anything!” He drew his daggers, quickly scanning for his other companions nearby, motioning for Cassandra and Dorian to come over. 

“Whatever that bastard is, he’s got himself an _ army _.” Marius growled, before his anger faded and all Lian could see was martial seriousness. In a second, his friend had gone from Marius the carouser to Marius the Commander. “We’ll need to hit it with everything we have. Gregor!”

At his snapped command the Captain of the Ironsides approached, his mailed fist slamming against his breastplate in salute. “Lord.”

“Get the Ironsides out there with every cavalryman still able to sit a horse and buy us some time to get the weapon crews into position and ready to fire.” He ordered, before tearing his eyes away from the oncoming force to look at the man. “Harry and withdraw. No reckless charges and no getting bogged down. And take Rain with you, once he’s barded up, both as a remount if its needed and to let the boy get some blood on his hooves, he’ll be antsy with all this going on around him.”

“My Lord.” Captain Gregor intoned, nodding his acknowledgment to first Marius and then - surprisingly - to Lian as well, before moving off. 

“And Gregor?” Marius added, an edge of almost paternal concern to his otherwise military tone. “Any bastard with a poxy name like ‘The Elder One’ will probably have some mages in his entourage. Be careful.”

The grizzled Captain grinned wolflishly. “No fear, General. We know what to do.” In illustration, he patted the small cavalry crossbow - designed to be fired and reloaded with one hand - that hung at his side. With a mutual nod, he walked off, barking orders.

“Whilst they buy us time, we need to set up. We’ve worked hard to make Haven as much of a fortress as we can but that means nothing without men and women defending it. I want archers on the fighting platforms behind the walls, putting arrows into targets alongside the bolt-throwers. All of them are to fire at will at any man glowing red.” at his words, several of the small cluster of adjutants that had coalesced around them sped away. “We’ll leave the gates open if we need to retreat, with men ready to form a shield wall if we’re pursued. But right now we, the mages, and every man or woman not too drunk or shagged out that to hold a sword need to be here, holding the line and protecting our trebuchets whilst they rain fire on the bulk of that horde.”

“Ser Trevelyan has the right of it.” Cullen nodded, only to start as he looked out towards where the ‘Elder One’ was stood upon the pinnacle of rock. Now he was no longer alone. When he spoke again, his voice was a hate-filled growl. “Samson.” 

The man, Samson, standing beside ‘The Elder One’ looked sickly pale and his eyes were darkened, bloodshot. His appearance was almost as intimidating as the creature beside him. 

“Mages! You- you have sanction to engage them! That is Samson. He will _ not _make it easy!” He turned to face the approaching army and raised his sword high into the air. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” He roared and the Inquisition joined, adding their voices to the war cry. 

But as the clamour died away, leaving only the blare of horns, the rattle of metal, and the sounds of distant battle as Marius’ Ironsides fought and - he knew - most likely _ died _to buy them precious moments, Lian felt the relative silence press in, heavy and oppressive. 

Behind him, Marius was being hastily armed by Ranulf, who - seemingly supernaturally ever-ready for whatever was needed - had appeared carrying his master’s armour in a heavy kitbag, Marius’ greatsword slung over one shoulder. The valet was himself garbed for battle in blue brigandine, with a shining barbute on his head, the high cheekguards of which transformed the kindly - almost grandfatherly - face into a grim martial mask. 

His friend so engaged, Lian looked back at the flood of torches and eldritch lights swarming down the valley, seeing them shift and eddy as - doubtless - the cavalry extracted a heavy toll for every step towards Haven. Alone amidst the multitude gravity of the situation came down heavily on him and the sounds around him were drowned out by his own heart beat. _ This is war... _He struggled to grasp it. To grasp that people were going to die and he wouldn’t be able to save them, he couldn’t be everywhere at once. There were a few times in his life when he was afraid, but none of them compared to this.

He looked to Dorian, but in the face of the Tevinter mage he saw his own feelings reflected back. The despair continued to build, rising in his throat like an onrushing tide and threatening to choke him.

“Lian.” Marius’ voice, strong and reassuring cut through it all. Turning, he found himself held by the taller man’s eyes even as Ranulf busied himself strapping on greaves and cuisses.

“Marius?” He answered his friend with a tremor in his voice. 

“Are you afraid?” the words held no scorn, but were couched in way that Lian knew would brook no lie.

"Yes," He managed as his gaze drooped and he balled his hands into fists at his sides. 

“Lian, look at me.” the words dragged his eyes back up, finding a gentle smile on his friend’s bearded face. “It’s your first real battle, far as I can tell. There’s no shame in being afraid. Nearly every man is, close to the steel, doesn’t matter if it’s the first time or the hundredth.” Marius’ gaze flicked to where the older man was pulling his shirt of golden chainmail, from the kitbag. “Isn’t that right, Ranulf?”

“Absolutely, my Lord.” The valet answered, with his typical courtly grace, before adding in a less reverent tone. “Any man who says otherwise is either _ mad _ or a _ liar _. Arms.”

Obeying with a chuckle, Marius bent over and stretched out his arms before, with a practiced speed - if not grace - struggled into the chainmail shirt Ranulf pulled over him. Head emerging from the appropriate hole, Marius continued.

“The first thing you need to know is that it’s no different to every other fight in your life. Sure there’s more of the buggers and it’s loud as a herd of cows when there’s a bull with a hardon in the field, but all of _ that _ -.” he pointed a finger towards the oncoming force, even as Ranulf buckled on his arm harness. “- simply _ cannot _ fight _ you _ all at once. So groups of them’ll come at us, all fire and fury, piss and vinegar, like they have before. And you’ll knock the bastards back just like before. The only difference is that more will come after them.” a broad grin slashed white through his beard. “But not enough. And after a while, where all we’ve done is fight the same fights we’ve fought before in our own little bit of the field, either we’ll need to fall back and fight somewhere else, or those red shits down there will be running back over that hill.” With his arms and shoulders now fully encased in gleaming volcanic aurum, the big man rolled his shoulders, before smiling. “Battles are only big in the history books. For everyone else, they’re as small as every other tavern brawl and desert skirmish in the world. Understand?”

Lian smiled a toothy grin of his own - albeit a lopsided one - as Marius' words washed away the fear and dread that had previously taken hold and he nodded. "Yup! Let's go!" 

Nodding in agreement as Ranulf handed him his lion helmet and his black obsidian-forged greatsword - before the older man scooped Marius’ blue jacket and a few other things into the kitbag and set off to deposit it behind the walls - Marius’ gaze left of Lian and, following it, he saw him looking at where Dorian was still standing, gazing out at the valley.

“What about you, Lord Dorian?” Marius called. “Are you afraid?”

“Bloody petrified, actually.” the scion of House Pavus’ voice was clinging onto its air of unconcern by the last shred of a fingernail. “And I’ll skip the inspiring speech, if you don’t mind.”

The first wave of Venatori was upon them two..._ things _that could really only be described as ‘horrors’ were the first of the enemy group to appear. They looked bloated, deformed and hunched over with red lyrium shards sticking out of them. Three red templars ran ahead of them with swords raised as they charged forwards, the gaps in their helmets were filled with red light. 

Marius roared, sweeping his greatsword upwards as Cassandra raised her shield. To his surprise, Lian saw that Ranulf had returned, in his hands a wicked-looking poleaxe. His usually urbane voice raised in a near-berserk battle cry, the older man rushed to Marius’ side. The three warriors charged as one, putting themselves between Dorian, Lian and the onrushing enemies. Dorian waved his hand and protective magics shimmered in a wave over all three of them. There was another horror at the back with its arm outstretched, the red crystal shards jutting obscenely from spongy flesh crackling and hissing. Seeing it, Lian made his move. Marius was right, this was just like every other fight. 

Before the horror could unleash whatever it was that in intended, Lian had appeared from the shadows behind it. Leaping onto its back, he slid his daggers home as he had hundreds of times before, the steel blades biting home with practiced skill and deadly effect. The horror collapsed forward and he rode it to the ground, confirming the kill with a twist of his blades and a second thrust. 

He ripped the blades free as two more red templars came up behind him. Now he wasn’t afraid- not for himself. He was no stranger to being surrounded by enemies and before they could strike him he vanished as his form was shrouded in a cloud of black smoke. He reappeared a split second later, delivering two fatal blows to the one on the left and riposting the other’s attack. 

Around him, the fight was going well, as far as he could read the swirling tempest of the melee. Cassandra - as ever - was fighting with her chilling efficiency and economy of effort, parrying near-feral blows with ease and riposting to devastating and oft-fatal effect. Ranulf was fighting with a ferocious might that made him utterly unrecognisable as the dignified attendant he usually comported himself as. Marius, meanwhile, was like nothing Lian had ever seen. The golden giant stormed into where the onslaught of Red Templars and their monstrosities was thickest. A titan, impervious to threat, Marius roared again - seemingly with more delight than battle-wroth - and laid about him with his greatsword. Blows rained against him, but each was caught, parried, and the attacker launched backwards in bloody ruin. Lian saw him impale one Templar, gut another, before _ bisecting _ one of the horrors. And all the while Dorian worked his spellcraft, blistering bolts of energy raining down to wreak arcane terror amongst the enemy, whilst the Inquisition’s soldiers fought on around them, desperate to protect their fellows and what was essentially their home. 

Almost as soon as the first wave had been dealt with, the second rushed in, Templar oaths distorted behind their helmets by more than just the metal. His blood up and heart pounding with the savage, primal exhilaration of combat, Lian raced to meet them, his allies beside him.

“Almost ready, keep them off us!” A soldier cried from beside one of the two massive trebuchets, whose great throwing arms were slowly bending back. 

Fighting off another band of Templars, Lian had just torn the throat from one with his sickle-blade as a pair of near synchronous **CRACKS** rent the air, followed by a sliding whoosh of displaced air. Looking up, he saw two fireballs arc through the night sky, to land with great explosions of fire and snow and crumpled corpses among the ranks of the enemy. Elsewhere along the line, other trebuchets sent their payloads hurtling through the air, to land with shattering impacts to the cheers of the Inquisition’s forces. 

Two more times the artillery pieces behind him fired, as all the while Lian fought with all his strength to hold back the seemingly endless tide of marauding Templars. But then, a shout.

“Herald! Get to the second battery, they’re not firing!” 

Looking to Marius, whose armour was so blasted with gore that now it looked more black than gold, he nodded and - with his friend bellowing orders to reinforce the line - they raced in the direction of the western artillery position, Cassandra, Ranulf and Dorian at their heels. 


	5. Chapter 5

Pushing back the visor of his lion helm, Marius drank in great gulps of the cool night air as he ran. Beneath his sweat-slicked beard, he smiled broadly. _ This _ is where he was meant to be: in the thick of a fight, battling and defeating all who stood before him. _ This _was what he had been trained for all his life, the purpose for which his father had raised him, and what he truly - more than anything, even lovemaking - excelled at. Tonight, the Maker willing, they would throw back this ‘Elder One’ and have a double reason to celebrate. 

Beside him, Lian easily kept pace, and Marius grinned all the harder. By Cathaire’s Blade, his old friend could fight. He’d never seen the like, the way he slipped in and out of the shadows so naturally or how he appeared to be in several places at once, striking an enemy from every angle. He anticipated the Venatori’s moves with an almost supernatural instinct - as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Every move that he made converged into an elegant dance. It was remarkable.

Looking behind him, he was heartened to see - behind where Seeker Cassandra, Ranulf, and Lord Dorian were following on like the tail of a comet - their reinforcements slamming into place in the battleline. The Iron Bull was leading his Chargers in to fill the gap their departure had left, all of his company roaring their battle cry “Horns up!”. It was a heartening sight. Or terrifying, depending upon your allegiance. 

Focusing on what lay ahead, he ran on and his heart sang as he heard a familiar sound. 

_ Twang-slide- _ ** _thump._ **

_ Twang-slide- _ ** _thump. _ **

On the wooden towers that had been specifically reinforced for that purpose, the bolt-throwers he had ordered constructed were opening up, spitting their terrible four-foot iron payloads into the darkness. Soon after them came the sibilant hiss of arrows flitting through the air as the archers on the fighting platforms erected behind the stockade lent their volleys to the fire being hurled at the enemy by the Inquisition’s mage allies and the artillery.

Rushing into the second battery’s position, he found what he’d expected to find: devastation. Everywhere Inquisition soldiers lay dead or dying. There he saw a decapitated head - its eyes glassy, its mouth open in a silent scream - there an eviscerated soldier, dead hands trying vainly to push torn guts back in through the ragged rent in his armour. One poor bastard had even been nailed to an ammunition cart by his own longsword. The Red Templars and their horrors were everywhere, finishing off the artillery crew. As he watched, one of the monsters raised a hand and sent a spike of red lyrium into the eye of a soldier trying to crawl to safety, her legs not answering her mind’s commands. The sight stoked his anger afresh, made his blood boil. 

Slamming down his visor, he charged, roaring both an insult and a challenge. The word rang out, made unearthly by being channeled through his helmet’s breaths. “_ Bastaaarrrdddds! _” 

The first Red Templar died before he could even comprehend what was happening. Marius bulled into him with the force of a catapult strike, knocking the beast that had been a man to the ground and killing him with a stomp of his armoured sabaton that crushed the Templar’s windpipe, leaving him gurgling obscenely as he tried to breath through a splintered windpipe. The creature that had dispatched the fallen soldier raised one of its malformed hands to shoot its crystals, but with a savage downward chop of his greatsword, he removed the hands that threatened and then - with the return blow - took off the screaming ruin of a face. 

Pressing on, Marius beat back down his anger. He was no dwarven berserker, he was a Trevelyan of Ostwick. With practiced ease, he slipped back into the battle-calm that, more than any fury, made him - he knew with no arrogance - one of the deadliest fighters of his generation. It let him read with perfect clarity every move the enemy made, let his find the best move to fight off an attack or break an opponent’s defense, all within heartbeats. 

A Red Templar swung at him and he blocked, letting the traitor’s blade slide down and away, before stepping past him and sending a blinding downwards cut that - by more sheer force on impact than the blade’s edge - snapped his spine and sent him crashing to the ground. A trio of his allies pressed in at once, seeking vengeance and victory as so many had before. They won nothing but an end to their wretched existences. 

He swept his blade in low, at ankle level, forcing all but one to leap back to avoid the crippling blow. The third, more agile than his fellows, leapt the bloody blade, only to be slammed backwards by a heavy kick before he touched the ground. The second of the two who had retreated was felled by a pommel strike that cracked both helm and the skull beneath it, whilst the first Marius split from collarbone to sternum. That left only the third, still sprawling in the dirt, gasping for the breath that had been forced out of his lungs by the impact of both Marius’ armoured foot and the snow-covered ground. With an almost-contemptuous backhanded blow, Marius beheaded him. 

Around him, his own allies pressed home the advantage, Lian disappearing and reappearing with impossible speed, each almost dance-like motion ending in a death by either blade or throwing knife. The Seeker was stunning in her technique, oftimes literally - both blade and shield wielded with equal skill and deadly effect. Ranulf was as dependable as ever in a fight, his poleaxe whirring as it hooked and jabbed, swept and controlled, crushing limbs or taking heads. And the magic Lord Dorian unleashed was a great boon. He’d never truly fought beside a mage before and it was a truly amazing experience. But he did not let the wonder of spellcraft distract, focussing on retaking the position. 

In time, it was done. The Templars were driven back and they had room to breathe. Sliding back his visor once more, he breathed deep, feeling the familiar exultation of conflict survived thrum through him. Looking around, he confirmed the status of each of his companions in turn. Seeker Cassandra, Lord Dorian, Ranulf, and- 

_ Lian _. 

His old friend was unharmed, that he could see, but the elf was stood stock still, eyes pinned wide in horror and dismay. Not at what _ they _ had done, but at what they had failed to prevent. He was staring at the dead and dismembered corpses of the Inquisition soldiers, men and women who had volunteered to fight for his cause, for _ him _. And now, because of that, they were naught but torn and bloody meat. He knew what thoughts were going through his friend’s mind. They had gone through his own, once upon a time. He knew what he had to do.

“Lian!” he called, dragging his friend’s wide eyes to him as he approached. Putting a hand to the younger man’s shoulder, he spoke words once spoken to him by his father after his first command. They were hard words, but he edged the strength with which he spoke them in a gentleness. “Close your heart to it, more will die if you lose yourself now. In time, we will speak of it, hm?” 

The words had their effect, Lian’s eyes narrowing and a determination returning to their blue depths. Clapping him on the back, Marius left him and the others to the finishing of any wounded Templars and instead attended to the trebuchets. One was a burned and ruined wreck, but the other was still loaded and ready to fire. Mounting the spotting platform, Marius looked out at the battle. The line was holding and that was good, but more and more Templars were swarming over the mountain that lay at the valley’s far end. The scales had not yet been tipped and one trebuchet wouldn’t make _ that- _

The thought died before it finished, an idea barging it aside. Smiling a fiendish smile, Marius slung his sword over his back and moved to the great capstan that turned the cunningly-wrought turntable that could alter the trebuchet’s angle of attack. Yelling at the others to keep any fresh enemies off of him, he rolled his shoulders and threw his weight against one of the capstan’s spokes. Slowly, as another wave of the enemy crashed in and shattered against his fellows, he turned the great engine of war. Not towards the invaders’ army, but to the mountain slopes beside them.

Sweat pouring from him, Marius stepped back. Ordering Ranulf to light the payload, he got his breath back before - with a savage kick - he kicked the release lever. 

_ CRACK-THUNK- _ ** _WOOSH_ **

The heavy firing arm swept upwards, the counterweight propelling its skyward motion. At the summit of its arc it let fly its burning projectile, which sped across the night sky like a hurtling comet to slam into the mountain slopes directly beside where the ‘Elder One’s forces where entering the valley. 

It began slowly, the sound like the rumble of distant thunder. But then it grew, and grew, and grew until it was like no sound he had ever heard before. Louder than any cavalry charge, any storm, waves of rock and snow and ice cascaded down the mountainside, tearing away great pines and adding them to the roiling mass of its passage. Horrified shouts and screams were lost beneath the ** _roar_ ** as the avalanche slammed into the force of Templars, obliterating all in its path. From his position on the spotting platform, Marius grinned and punched Lian’s shoulder as together they watched the sundering of the enemy host. To his eyes over half the enemy in the valley had been wiped from existence as though the Maker himself had brought his fury down upon them. All along the line, Inquisition soldiers and mages cheered their delight or shouted insults and imprications at the sight of their enemy being laid so low. 

But then they heard another sound. A far larger sound, one Marius had never heard before, though it filled his heart with a dread he’d never yet felt. It was a tortured, unearthly sound. A roar of anger and of challenge and of hate. 

The roar of a High Dragon. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

The creature let out another cry as it unfolded its wings on either side of itself as it hurtled towards them. The dragon’s speed was unnervingly fast for something so large. Its sheer size and the speed in which it could move was terrifying enough. 

_ Then _ it opened its mouth and spewed red fire.

Before Lian could finish motioning for his allies to get back or get away himself, the blast hit the trebuchet hard, shaking the ground around it on impact. The machine was engulfed in flames and pieces of it were torn off and flung into the air. The dragon rushed past, kicking up dirt and snow as it went. The force of the impact knocked Lian off his feet and he barely tumbled out of the way in time to avoid a falling piece of burning timber. He stood shakily, before his fears and thoughts could even begin, Marius’ voice pierced them and the hazy fog that had started to curl around his mind. 

“We need to get to the gates, _ NOW!” _His friend’s voice was urgent as he dashed over, helping Lian to his feet. They ran as fast as they could, when the giant wooden doors came into view Cullen was urging the surviving soldiers through the doors and the dragon rushed past them, casting a menacingly monstrous shadow as it passed them, spewing fire at trebuchets and bolt-throwers alike. Lian remembered very few times anything truly struck fear and dread into his heart. The one and only time he’d gone toe to toe with a Phoenix in the Silent Plains and his battle with an Alpha Lurker. He forced his legs to keep moving, refusing to allow them to stiffen. He forced them to carry on even when he found that Munchy’s paddock was in ruins and the hart was nowhere to be seen.

As they drew near, a thunder of hooves came as Captain Gregor clattered up, some of his Ironsides behind him. Behind them, Marius’ great charger stood, barded in its own golden armour and with blood flecking its snow-white hooves and hocks. Both men and beasts were breathing hard. 

“My Lord!” Gregor intoned, his voice controlled but the strain showing in his eyes as he saluted, a gore-laden mace still in his hand. “That dragon-”

“Has broken the line.” Marius cut him off. “Get yourself, the Ironsides, and whatever other cavalry and horses are left out of here, Gregor. If you can cut your way out of the valley, you’ll be in the clear. We still haven’t seen any mounted Templars and I doubt that Dragon’ll pursue you.”

“My Lord!” now the Captain’s voice was angry. “We are sworn to you, to your protection. If you think we’re going to cut and run and leave you behind-”

“You are sworn to _ obey _ me, Captain. So _ do so _ .” Marius snapped, his voice a whipcrack. “I’m _ ordering _ you to go. Get out of here and get word to anyone who’ll listen. We know our enemy now.” 

Snarling in impotent fury, Captain Gregor nevertheless nodded his head and - with a nod - wheeled his mount and clattered away, his men following on. The white charger did likewise, with a sullen look at its abandoned rider as it thundered off.

“Come on, move it!” Cullen called from beside the gates. 

Running inside, breathing hard, Lian looked up at the Commander as the gates slammed shut behind them, heavy locking bars being slid into place in a desperate attempt to secure the village. 

“We need to get the… remaining people of Haven into the Chantry, Cullen. I don’t see any other option,” Lian tried to steady his voice, but he was _ scared. _ Cullen scratched the back of his head and nodded briefly before climbing the steps. The Herald looked to Marius for a moment. Despite that the both of them were blasted with the blood of their enemies, Marius was still standing tall, calm and collected. At least that’s how Lian saw him. How did he do that? Was he really used to all of this? The...lives lost, the _ burning _ smell in the air? _ I’m not the leader these people need... _ Lian thought to himself. If only he was even a fraction as cunning or as strong or… as brave as the titan that stood by his side. He shook his head and clenched his fists around his daggers. _ I’ll be damned if I don’t try to save everybody here. _

When the group reached the top of the steps they saw Lysette on their right, about to be descended upon by the enemy. She was cornered, three of them with blades surrounding her. Lian moved urgently, melting away into the shadows and leaping onto one of them, stabbing them in the back of the neck before parrying the incoming strike of the other. The third was distracted by Cassandra and Marius who charged in, close behind. Their war cries diverting the Venatori’s attention. A red templar archer further back was carefully lining up a perfect shot when he felt a pain. When the archer looked down he found two blades protruding from his chest before they were violently ripped back out and he was kicked down into the snow. Lian snarled, flicking the blood from his daggers before sheathing them and reaching for the throwing daggers he kept sheathed around his left thigh. The horror on the opposite side turned just in time to see a barrage of the sharp projectiles before it stumbled backwards and collapsed. 

“Help! Someone please! I can’t get up!” Lian spun towards the voice- his eyes widening in alarm as the cry for help was definitely coming from a burning building. He ran for it, finding the door wouldn’t budge and he growled before kicking with all his might, forcing the door open. He then wasted no time, running in and helping Seggrit to his feet, he slung the man’s arm over his shoulder and managed to get him clear of the building. 

“I’ll be fine, Herald. Thank you. Other’s need you,” Seggrit nodded solemnly before limping towards the Chantry. 

The group fought long and hard, Marius and Cassandra stood back to back cleaving and punishing the clumsy and predictable charging of the red templars and Dorian slammed the blade of his staff into the ground and he whipped his free hand in rounding motion, causing fire to erupt beneath the enemies’ feet. The ones that hadn’t yet died met their end at Lian’s scythes. His eyes flashed like cold steel in the brief moments that anyone could see him before he became one with the shadows once more. Determined, they moved at a steady pace, unwavering in their unified desire to see to it that every townsperson, that they could find, was safe. 

“Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your-sh-shelter!” Roderick wheezed, greeting the group and the rest of the people who ran in after them. The chancellor was hurt badly, a bloody trail from a corner of his mouth staining the skin. _ Oh not him too. _ Lian gritted his teeth. Roderick and he never saw eye to eye. He’d treated Lian poorly every chance he got. But Lian knew, from his dealings with chantry sisters and Mother Giselle, that they were just scared and lashing out. 

“He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die,” Cole, the boy that had come to help them, helped Roderick back inside as remaining soldiers closed the Chantry doors. 

“What a… charming boy,” Roderick remarked, earning a short and quiet snort from Lian, the comment surprised him. At least Roderick was being nice to young man. The rogue’s heart sunk when he spotted a wounded soldier, leaning against a pillar as one of the townspeople tried to offer them comfort.

“Herald,” Lian turned to see Cullen approaching him. “Our position is not good, that dragon’s undone all of the work we put into making Haven defensible.” 

“I-I know. But I don’t know what you want me to do- _ I _don’t know what to do...Cullen,” Lian spoke truthfully, glaring at the ground, they were in an impossible situation… and one that didn’t seem escapable.

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” the voice of the Cole cut in, soft but insistent. “It was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” 

“I don’t care what it looks like, it cut a path for that army!” Cullen snapped, before turning back to Lian. “We can’t stay in here forever, they’ll kill _ everyone _in Haven,” 

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He wants the Herald,” Cole said, drawing their attention back once again as he looked up from Roderick and directly at Lian. 

“If it saves these people then I will go and face this ‘Elder One’.” The words were out of his mouth without him even needing to think on them.

“It won’t. He wants to kill you. No one else matters. But he’ll crush them, kill them anyway.” a mixture of pain and disgust passed across the emaciated face. “I don’t like him.”  
  
“How do you know this, Cole?” Lian raised a brow, slightly skeptical.  
  
“I heard him.” the words were blunt, delivered as if they were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s very loud. It hurts to hear him,” 

Well. That kind of made sense… disconcerting that giving himself up wouldn’t save anyone. The Elder one would probably just kill him and then kill everyone else in Haven. 

“Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable.” Cullen’s tone was dour. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We _ could _ turn the remaining trebuchets… and cause one last slide. We’re dying, but we can decide _ how. _Many don’t get that choice,” 

After a moment spent realising what he meant and that he meant it, Lian raised his brows in disbelief. “Oh, you’re serious!? No, I can’t accept that. I _ won’t _ accept it. Everyone here is _ not _ gonna die! There _ has _ to be something. There _ must _be a way out,” 

“Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies,” Cole looked up at them from where he was squatting beside Roderick. The more Cole spoke, the more he reminded Lian of Blackfeather, especially with the apparent mind reading. He wasn’t absolutely sure, but he was certain that this boy _ could be- _

The pain-wracked words of Roderick stopped his thoughts. “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people _ can _escape...She must have shown me. Andastre must have shown me so I could… tell you,” 

“Good. Cullen, get these people out of here,” Lian ordered him.  
  
Cullen nodded, gravely, before his features softened. “But what about you, Herald?”  
  
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“The soldiers are as ready as they can be.” Marius’ voice, strong and sturdy, cut into his thoughts. Sure enough, behind the big man, men and women in Inquisition armour had formed up into a shield wall, spearmen levelling their weapons beside the heads of their comrades on the frontline. 

“Marius, I need you by my side.” Lian explained, hurriedly. “We need to create a distraction to buy enough time for them to get out, the Chancellor knows a way.”

Marius grin was a thing of near-savage joy, as he swept his greatsword up to rest upon his shoulder. “Lead the way then, my friend. Where you go, I will follow.”


	6. Chapter 6

A few desperate moments passed before Lian led the others back out through the Chantry’s front doors. He thought it was a good idea to replenish his throwing daggers and Leliana was able to help, showing him to a room where they had managed to salvage some supplies when the attack had started. By the time he returned there were no civilians left in the main hall of chapel, only the last of the soldiers filing out as the rearguard, led by Ranulf at Marius’ insistence. Putting their shoulders to it, Marius and Cassandra pushed the doors open and sure enough there were Venatori groups outside, waiting. 

“Whilst it’ll be hard  _ not  _ to attract attention with this Titan standing next to us, I’m a bit of a pariah back home, so naturally I’m very good at making a spectacle of myself!” Dorian twirled his staff gracefully around his fingers before slamming it into the dirt, unleashing a storm of purple lightning on the advancing enemies. The bolt struck and bounced from one to the next before they were promptly cut down by Marius’ sword work.

“Haha! I could do this all night!” Dorian exclaimed, admiring the crispy remains of his targets. He pretended to dust his hands off when he spotted a red templar horror at range, pointing its palm in his direction. The next few moments happened in slow motion as Dorian’s eyes widened, despite how swiftly he tried to move, the red shards flying his way would get there before he was able to protect himself. He shut his eyes, hearing multiple tings and tangs but feeling no impact. When he opened his eyes, Lian was there, the elf was facing the horror, snarling. Lian had deflected every projectile meant for the mage, he turned briefly and met Dorian’s brown eyes with his own before he vanished. He reappeared mid-lunge with his daggers pointed downward over head as he landed on the horror and with two decisive slashes, it was finished. 

“I’m starting to think you  _ like  _ me, Herald,” Dorian quipped, he smiled with a corner of his mouth as Lian stood back up and turned around to face him. He tilted his head slightly and raised a brow. 

“Of course I do. Come on,” He raised his brow at the mage before urging him to move with a nod. Marius and Cassandra waited for them before pressing onward. The path to the last standing trebuchet was clear and absent of any fighting. As the large wooden contraption came into view, so did a group of more red templars that were waiting for them. Lian noticed that the trebuchet wasn’t positioned correctly and he knew what needed to be done. 

“Marius, can you turn the trebuchet?” he said, looking to his friend. “You’re the most capable of all of us. We’ll cover you,” 

Nodding, Marius slung his greatsword and - clapping his hands together - once more put his titanic strength to work turning the great capstan. While he did so, Lian, Cassandra and Dorian held off the Venatori. Cassandra was hardly troubled by the group of red templar knights that rushed her. With a strong cry and a forward sweep she knocked them down as Dorian’s lightning bounced between them. Lian had melted away again, taking the enemies, at range, by surprise. 

Thundering steps drew the groups attention to the gap between the mountains close by. Lian couldn’t believe that something so colossal could even have  _ emerged  _ from that space. The Behemoth towered over them all and cast an even longer shadow, the top half of its body almost completely overgrown by the red lyrium. The only indicator to it ever being human, let alone a Templar, were the barely visible remains of a helmet and the breastplate that bore the Templar’s symbol. Lian’s eyes widened with sheer horror. He’d fought many things. From Lurkers, Phoenix, Varghest to rebel Templars and mages to a variety of demons. None of them were anywhere near as imposing as this creature. But it didn’t matter. He  _ had  _ to try. The people of Haven and the Inquisition were depending on him. 

The monstrosity lifted its right arm into the air, while Lian was behind the two warriors, he still had the unshakeable feeling that he was not out of harm’s way. As the behemoth brought its fist down, shaking the snow-covered ground beneath it, Lian jumped backwards instinctively. Corrupted lyrium shards erupted from the ground where he had been just a second ago. Deftly, he moved around the wall of shards that the creature erected. Moving to the monster’s back he struck at its legs, chipping away at it little by little. Marius roared, his voice echoed off of the mountains and possibly the very heavens as he brought his greatsword down in a horizontal cleave, on the behemoth’s limb. The blade bit deeply into the red shards and the creature bellowed a warped and twisted cry as it started flailing the weaponized limb in a circle around it. The rampage ended as quickly as it began. The creature’s colossal form froze gradually, until it looked like an ice sculpture, posed with its limb raised. All together, Marius, Cassandra and Lian lunged at the creature, finishing it off under a barrage of blows. 

“Well… now that that’s over with… you guys better get out of here,” Lian returned his daggers to his back. Cassandra and Dorian started to move, but Marius stood still. 

“Marius? You need to go with them,  _ now.  _ Haven’ll be gone soon,” 

“Cathaire’s Blade I am.” his arms folded across his chest. “I’m not leaving you here to get mobbed by Templars, or buried beneath an avalanche.”

“I’ll be fine, Marius, I’ve gotten out of worse. Go” Lian insisted, but the titan didn’t budge. So he used the words he’d heard before. “Marius. That’s an  _ order. Go now _ . Protect the others.” The words were strong, even as he looked to his friend, desperately hoping he would heed them. Marius growled and lifted the visor of his lion helm for a moment, locking his blue eyes with Lian’s. 

“You better come find us or I’m marching back down this mountain to find _ you _ .” With that, Marius turned away to join the others, disappearing between the burning houses as Lian looked up to the sky, hearing the archdemon shriek again. He was afraid Marius would turn back upon hearing it and prayed that he wouldn’t. If the Inquisition had any chance- without himself- it needed Marius.

Another blast from the archdemon sent Lian tumbling helplessly through the air and he landed with a thud in the snow. For a second when he opened his eyes he was disorientated, wondering why he was seeing nothing but the howling and blizzard filled night sky. Shakily he stood on his feet. From the corner of his eye he noticed a figure emerging from the flames that were left behind in the dragon’s wake. The figure became clearer once it stepped  _ through  _ the flames and that’s when he realised that this creature was the same one Cole had pointed out earlier ‘The Elder One’. The ground shook beneath the rogue’s feet as the arch-demon landed and approached him, blocking a potential escape path and throwing its head high into the air as it let out a bone-chilling shriek. His instincts were telling him to  _ run,  _ to escape. His instincts were trying to take over and convince him to  _ survive _ . But he glanced upward to the sky, a reminder that he needed to wait for the light of the signal flare from the townsfolk. He didn’t see one, only the furious flitting of snow in the storm. They needed more time and for all the deaths that were his fault, he needed to make it right, he needed to at least  _ try.  _

_ ‘No one should have died, not for me.’  _ he thought to himself as he clenched his jaw and steadied his shaking legs. He stood as tall as he could as the creature came closer, yet h e couldn’t help but stare wide eyed at its form. His own stomach turned as he registered that the creature’s skin was pulled over chain and red lyrium  _ embedded _ into it. Then his gaze fell involuntarily to the creature’s chest, or lack thereof. There was barely skin or flesh there. It was mostly… red lyrium and a chunk of…  _ something. _ How was this  _ thing  _ even alive? He felt sick with fear.

“ _ Enough!”  _ The Elder One merely flicked his wrists to send a gust of wind at Lian. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more,”

“Whatever you are, this stops now!” The Herald snarled as he tried to quell his racing heart.

“Meaningless words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The  _ will  _ that is Corypheus!”

Lian hissed. “I’m sorry. When exactly did I pretend to be  _ monster? _ ”

Corypheus ignored his questions and pointed an elongated and blackened finger at him. “You  _ will  _ kneel,” He commanded. 

_ Corypheus? As in ‘Conductor’?  _ Lian snorted. “If you know anything about my ‘ken’ then this should sound familiar. I will  _ never  _ submit. Especially not to the likes of  _ you _ ,”

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not, I am here for the  _ anchor _ . The process of removing it begins now,” Corypheus then turned his gaze to the orb in his hand. He didn’t even move a muscle to activate it. The orb came to life, whirring and snapping with particles that looked like red lightning. The sound startled Lian and, involuntarily, he flinched. He swallowed and felt dizzy. Before he could even wonder what was about to happen his marked hand was being pulled by an unseen force and it was uncomfortable, painful. He grunted, refusing to scream. Refusing to let this creature see him afraid. He didn’t want to be afraid! Kaffas! This monster was responsible for the attack on haven! The deaths of the men and women who  _ believed  _ in him!

“It is your fault, ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying, you stole its purpose, I do not know how you survived. But what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens,” Corypheus continued trying to pry the magic from the Herald. “And you used the anchor to undo my work! The gall!”

“You are  _ nothing  _ but a  _ Maleficar _ ,” Lian spat at him, snarling with flared nostrils as he flailed against Corypheus’s grip. The elf must’ve touched a nerve because the creature had a momentary look of shock before he hurled the elf into the side of the trebuchet behind them. He flew through the air helplessly and his back connected squarely with the structure and his head soon followed, his head made a sickening crack as it did and he cried out.

“The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling,”

Lian slid to the base of the trebuchet and he shook his head, trying desperately to clear the haze. He looked around, catching the glint of metal and instinctively he reached for the longsword by one of the fallen soldiers and he stood uneasily, using the trebuchet behind him for support.

“So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world thee nation-and  _ God-  _ It requires,”

And that’s when the Herald turned his gaze towards the furious dark sky. And that is when he saw it.

The signal flare.

His relief subsided as quickly as it came when Corypheus continued.

“And  _ you _ . I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You  _ must  _ die,” Corypheus stated. Lian spotted the lever for the trebuchet in the corner of his eye and got an idea. He braced himself, raising the longsword with both of his hands as if preparing to defend himself against Corypheus.

“ _ You  _ are no god. I will not submit and you will not kill me. Not today!” He shouted before kicking the handle and the trebuchet swung, sending the boulder hurtling into the mountain above haven. Corypheus was distracted! Adrenaline surged through Lian’s entire body as he decided that it was no or ever and he took off, sprinting as fast as he could. Somewhere along the way he found an entrance to an abandoned mine. It was boarded up and he shoulder charged into it to escape being buried alive by the avalanche.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

“Argh!” Lian grunted as he stirred. For a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was and why he had decided to sleep there, before everything came rushing back in a torrent of flashes. The cheering townsfolk, the alarms, the countless lights of torches carried by the approaching armies, the faces of frightened men and women, the dead bodies of the soldiers that he had failed to protect. He failed them. He failed  _ all  _ of them. He couldn’t help but sob, curled amidst the splintered planks. For the first half of his life, all he wanted to do was make his father- his parents- proud and he  _ failed. _ He wound up kicked out of the clan and now he was here. ‘Leading’ the Inquisition. He snorted, chiding himself.  _ Some leader I turned out to be.  _ He felt he was responsible for the Conclave and truly believed he was making it right, but now… 

** _“Get up,”_ ** A strong yet gentle and familiar voice. 

“Marius?” Lian whispered, breaking into a fit of coughs. “How did you…?”   
  


No. He was  _ hallucinating.  _ He  _ had  _ to be. He looked around for his friend, but didn’t find him. 

** _“if you lose yourself now...”_ ** He heard Marius again, realising that his friend, hallucination or not, was right. There were people trudging through the snow now and  _ someone  _ needed to face Corypheus. He stifled his cries and wiped away his tears on the back of his sleeve as he gathered himself, standing up again once more, searched for his daggers and sheathed them on his back. He had trouble keeping himself upright, he was dizzy and every step was a struggle as the world seemed to try and tip him over but he pressed on. He made his way down the abandoned tunnels, supporting himself with his hand against the side of the narrow passageways. 

The mark- the  _ anchor- _ in his hand was still playing up- he vaguely remembered hearing it snap and hiss when he woke. Ever since Corypheus had tried to tear it from him it kept glowing.  _ Something _ was going on with it, but Lian had a hunch that it wasn’t an immediate threat. He stumbled upon a rift, several wraiths appearing and emitting their signature ghostly cries. It suddenly hit him, like a lesson he had learned but forgotten until now. He curled his fingers around the anchor and concentrated as he raised his hand into the air. He watched in astonishment as a small rift  _ of his own _ appeared, sucking the demons into it and shortly closing on its own. Then he sealed the pre-existing rift and carried on, finding the end of the mine. 

He shivered violently, unable to keep from hissing in the freezing storm as he clutched an arm tightly around himself and the other raised to shield his face from the flurrying snow. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he left the mine, but he guessed that it must have been hours. Why am I still going? What are the chances that I… that I can find them? He wondered to himself but dismissed them. He couldn’t afford to think that way. The next thing that he came across changed his mind. He found a small campsite, the fire had long been extinguished- but perhaps this had been set up by the people who had escaped Haven? Maybe he could find them after all! He felt a spark of energy renew within himself as he pressed on. No matter how badly he wanted to stop, to sleep, to rest, he didn’t. He was exhausted and his senses were dulled by the cold. So much so that an attack, that he would have normally seen coming, knocked him, his back in the cold snow. 

A red lion was upon him. 

It roared and as quickly as it had knocked him down it prepared to strike, to ravage him right at the centre of his chest. And as quickly as that, he managed to grab one of his last throwing daggers from his thigh-sheath and drove it into the creature’s side. It roared furiously and let go of the arm of his that it had pinned and he rolled away. He was standing now with daggers ready and adrenaline temporarily driving back the cold. The snowstorm was still raging and thick, it was difficult to see the lion when it stalked him only a few paces away. He found himself backed against the side of a mountain, not good. 

He tried his best to fight the creature off but it managed to slash his left leg. It was bleeding badly and no longer capable of supporting his weight. Helplessly he slid to the ground, but even at that disadvantage he still put up a fight. The lion lunged forward and jousted back,  _ testing  _ him and he swung with the one scythe he hadn’t lost when the lion had surprised him earlier. When it lunged this time, it was just fast enough to  _ grab  _ the weapon between its teeth and it pulled and flung the weapon away from him. Lian was panting heavily now, drained but angry. 

“Y-y-you aren’t gonna kill  _ me!  _ I didn’t survive all that shit to die to you!” He shouted as it lunged again and he kicked it in the chest with his good leg. It grunted and he recognised that look in its eyes. The beast had gone on for far too long without a meal, it was not going to let him get away. 

Again, the wild cat lunged and this time his kick wasn’t strong enough. But in the split second that it took for the beast to lunge and sink its fangs into the muscle, on the right, of his neck, he’d managed to unsheathe his very last weapon and through the pain he drove the blade straight into the beast’s throat, severing its jugular and blood sprayed from it as it crumpled on top of him in a heavy heap. Lian could feel himself fading, could see his vision blur and double before the dark sky grew even darker. He couldn’t see the whipping snow or wind anymore… His head fell back against the mountain side as his eyes rolled closed.


	7. Chapter 7

Marius stood glaring down at the valley. It had been  _ hours _ since the avalanche. Hours since the lights of the invading Templars had withdrawn, bloodied and battered by the power of the mountains themselves. Hours since he had left an old friend to nearly certain death.

A friend who had not reappeared. 

How could he have just  _ left him there _ ? Surrounded by enemies, that damned  _ Archdemon _ flying around, about to call down the fury of an avalanche upon his own head? An avalanche that he, Cassandra, and Dorian had only barely survived by finding cover in the lee of an outcrop of rock? An avalanche that had well and truly  _ buried _ Haven. He’d only just found Lian - one of the few friends he’d ever had outside his family - after a lifetime and then he’d just  _ abandoned _ him.  ** _Why?_ **

_ “Because he asked me to.”  _ he sighed, before chuckling despite himself.  _ “Because he  _ ** _ordered_ ** _ me to.”  _ He remembered the strength of his friend’s voice then, the first steps towards  _ command _ . But more importantly, he remembered something else: his promise. 

Lian - if he still lived - hadn’t found them. So it was time to find  _ him _ . 

“Ranulf?” he spoke the name to the bitter air, more  _ feeling _ that his valet, friend, confidante and de-facto bodyguard was behind him. 

“Yes, my lord?” despite the fact that they were on a frozen mountainside, Ranulf’s voice was its calm, urbane self. 

“I need a thick cloak, fur bindings for my boots, and supplies for three days or so. And if you can find anything hot to drink that can be put into a skin, I’d appreciate it.” he listed the things with a hard edge, knowing the older man would guess his intent and not wanting to be argued with. 

Nevertheless, argument was given. Almost- “Lord Marius, there’s a bliz-”

“I see it, Ranulf.” he didn’t snap, but he nonetheless cut across the older man. And he did. Away back down the valley they had all trudged up was the heavy clouds and swirling whiteness of a blizzard. It would be on them soon. “Do as I command.”

The crunch of snow behind him let him know he had been obeyed. As he stood alone, the campfire behind him scant comfort against the chill of the wind, he glared back down the way they had come. He alternated between praying to Andraste and pouring out his will, trying to  _ make _ his friend appear out of the snows before him. 

“Come on, Lian.” he hissed, the words lost in the howling wind. “The Inquisition needs you.  _ I  _ need you.” It was the truth. He’d lost comrades before, men he had talked and drank with. But he’d never lost a friend. He did not want to start now.

In time, Ranulf returned. Vexingly, he was not alone.

“You cannot do this, Ser Trevelyan!” Lady Josephine’s words were spoken with concern and a not-quite-hidden edge of fear. 

“I can and I must.” was all he said in answer. 

“The Ambassador is right.” Commander Cullen pronounced gravely. “With that storm coming in, you put yourself at too great a risk.” 

“It is a risk worth taking.” he shot back. “If Lia- if  _ the Herald _ is lost in that storm, he must be found. Our enemy is not defeated and the mark on his hand may still be the only way to defeat the ‘Elder One’. He is too important to lose.”

“As are you.” Lady Cassandra returned his volley with equal strength and certainty. “One of the reasons many of the people alive in the camp  _ are _ alive is because of what you brought to the Inquisition. It would be madness to throw your life into certain hazard like this, when there is still a war to win.” 

At her words, he smiled grimly. “I’m a soldier, Seeker. Throwing myself into certain hazard is my job.” but then even that small humour faded and he looked to each of them in turn, even Leliana, who had not yet spoken. “I’ve made my decision.” 

“So be it.” Sister Nightingale said at last. “Good luck.” 

With that - and with great reluctance - the others left, Lady Cassandra looking at him over her shoulder as she made her way back to the camp. When their eyes met, he smiled a half-smile of reassurance, before turning to see what Ranulf had been able to procure. 

The cloak was a surprise, being his own. He knew Ranulf kept a bag of clothing and other such things always ready and packed in case they needed to leave at speed but hadn’t realised the man had managed to grab during the retreat to the Chantry. A damned paragon, Ranulf was. In any case, it would serve well: made of thick white wool and both lined and edged in the fur of the great snow bears that inhabited the frozen wastes south of the Korcarri wilds. It had taken no small amount of coin to acquire, but it had been worth the cost. Now its worth would be truly tested. 

Donning the garment as Ranulf set about tying the strips of fur binding he’d been able to get together around his boots as extra protection from the snow he’d soon be walking through, Marius felt the comforting weight and warmth of the garment envelop him as he belted on his arming sword. It had been a good thing this at least had been saved from the wreck of Haven. Not long after, Ranulf got to his feet and proffered the bag of supplies, which Marius slung across his shoulders. Finally, his old attendant handed over a good sized skin. Unstopping it, Marius smiled as he caught the familiar scent of hot wine drifting on the vapours. 

“Good man.” he chuckled, before stoppering the skin and slinging it across his other shoulder. He was ready. As ready as he’d ever be. Looking to Ranulf he nodded, before putting a hand to the older man’s shoulder. “If I don’t return, tell my father….tell him-” for one of the first times in his life, he found himself at a loss for words. He chuckled grimly. “Tell him something suitable.” 

“I will, my Lord.” Ranulf nodded, before, less formally, adding. “Andraste guard and guide you, Master Marius.” 

Smiling at the invocation of his childhood title, Marius hugged the man who’d been at his side since boyhood. “And Maker watch over you, Ranulf.” 

Then, with a final wave of a hand in farewell, he turned and began his slow march down into the valley. And into the teeth of a blizzard. 

___________

Hours passed in the cold and dark of that snow-swathed night, but still Marius pressed on. Sometimes walking, sometimes striding, and in deeper drifts even having to burrow through the snow. Even with the cloak of white bear hide wrapped around him, the cold sank its fangs deep. It seemed to worm its way through the furs and the wool into his very  _ soul. _ Around him the blizzard hurled flurries of ice and snow into his eyes, near-blinding him and preventing him from seeing more than a few feet in front of him. Part of him told him to turn back, that this was foolishness, but he drove it down and killed it. He had to find his friend.

And so on he strode.

“ ** _Lian?_ ** ” he bellowed the name into the storm, only to have it torn away in the howling wind. “ ** _Lian!_ ** ”

For what seemed like hours he struggled on, pausing for only moments to take a swig of the rapidly cooling wine or a shred of dried beef. In time, the fury of the blizzard either passed on or elsewise spent itself. The wind was still bitter and snow still fell in sheets, but he could see a little better at the very least. And yet there was still no sign of his friend.

“Blessed Maker above, hear my words.” Stood beneath a stand of pines that had somehow survived the avalanche, he prayed aloud, hoping the creator of all was listening. “Help me find my friend, the Herald of your beloved Andraste. At least give me a sign.”

Almost in answer Marius heard a sound upon the wind, an eerie warbling trumpeting. It was the sound of a creature whining in distress. Drawing his sword, he set off after it, every sense strained to their limit in guard against danger. Mountain lions were common in these parts and he had no desire to survive all the battles and wars of his life only to end up as the nighttime snack of an overgrown housecat. 

Passing through another clump of pines and rocky outcrops, he found the sound’s origin: a red hart. More importantly, a hart he knew. It was Munchy, Lian’s beast, which he rode just as well as a horse. A strange, almost half-witted creature, it had once again proven its nature. The animal had managed to get his  _ entire  _ head, antlers and all, stuck in a small den. Even stranger, Shredder, Lian’s white bird who he had nursed to health years ago, had its talons wrapped around one of Munchy’s legs and was beating her wings hard in an attempt to help free him to no avail. 

Looking to the sky, Marius silently wondered about the Maker’s sense of humour. If this was a sign, then his God was definitely in a jesting mood tonight.

The snow crunching beneath Marius’ boots alerted Shredder and she stopped, looking at him with her blue eyes, before she seemed to remember him and chirped. Looking from him to the stressed Munchy, the bird flapped its wings as the hart whined again and renewed its struggles. 

Sighing at the beast’s idiocy, Marius sheathed his arming sword and went to help the stricken creature, all the while keeping an eye on the white bird. It had a cruel nature at times and had more than earned its name, from the stories Lian had told him. But it simply perched upon the hart’s hindquarters and watched him work, its eyes holding a calculating glint within their blue depths. 

Through a mixture of digging, pulling, and sheer brute strength, he finally managed to help free the beast, whose head and antlers reappeared in an explosion of dirt and snow and with a trumpeting bellow of relief and triumph. Munchy bounded away in a sprint of pure unalloyed joy at its regained liberty, Shredder taking wing and the rapid movement, before returning to Marius’ side as he got to his feet, brushing snow and soil from his clothing. In the hart’s eyes he saw a glimmer of understanding and - before he could do anything - he received a tremendously wet, foul-smelling lick of gratitude across the face from the creature. 

Wiping his face clean, Marius glared at the beast, before shaking his head. “Come on, you.” he said, wrapping his cloak around himself. “Let’s go find Lian.”

To his muted surprise, the animal complied, falling in alongside him whilst Shredder continued to circle overhead. Now with two unexpected and not altogether welcome companions, Marius set off again down the slope of the mountain. 

_______

It was another few hours until he found Lian. Coming over a small, snow-shrouded hillock, he beheld the scene of a violent contest. Still visible despite the fresh fallen snow’s efforts to obscure it, the ruts and furrows in the white powder and the red blood marring its pristine colouring spoke of a desperate and terrible fight. Both combatants lay together, one atop the other and at the sight of golden hair and long elven ears peeking from beneath the snow-covered ruddy pelt of a mountain lion, Marius felt his heart stop. 

Dashing forward, all caution cast aside, he skidded to his knees beside the two bodies. Heaving aside the corpse of the big cat, he looked mournfully down at his friend. Lian’s face was pale, save in the places where it was stained with dried blood. More blood covered his leg, where it leaked slowly from a jagged cut. 

All but tearing off his pack, Marius desperately rifled through its contents until he found a roll of bandages. Binding the wound with practiced care, he tied off the roll of clean linen with a strong jerk, which elicited a groan from Lian that made his heart sing. He was alive. Wounded, but alive.

Taking the wineskin from his side, he splashed some of its now cool contents onto the elf’s face, washing away the worst of the blood and causing his blue eyes to flutter open. 

“Ma-Marius?” the word was weak, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, it’s me.” he answered warmly, a smile kinking his lips despite the situation. “Told you I’d come and get you, didn’t I?” 

His only answer was a twitch of Lian’s mouth, before his eyes closed again.

Packing his things away, Marius then gathered Lian into his arms, before lifting him with an explosive grunt of effort. Despite his small stature, the elf was not a light burden. It didn’t matter. Not one bit.

“Come on, little brother,” he said, as he carried Lian to where his red hart stood, fretfully pawing at the snow. “Let’s get you home.”


	8. Chapter 8

The sun had only just peeked over the horizon, its crisp light shining through gaps in the steep mountains. It bathed the camp in its nascent light when Mags sat at the desk.

“Mags, our scouts have found these… and the hunters are preparing the rams,” A scout reported to the weary woman, whose tanned skin was sallow with the exhaustion she felt in her very bones. She nodded and inspected the bundle of herbs that the scout presented to her. She smiled and relaxed, there was plenty of elfroot for the people, among other things.

“Ah, elfroot. Where would we be without you?” She lifted a stem out, gingerly, between her fingers. 

“Thank you,” She nodded to the scout, dismissing him and took the bundle into the cover of a tent to her desk where a mortar and pestle lay ready. She was the lead healer of the Inquisition, chosen for her extensive knowledge with medicine, herbs and alchemy. She’d been caring for the refugees in the Hinterlands side by side with Mother Giselle and her skills and knowledge didn’t go unnoticed. When the Herald came to speak with Mother Giselle, she spoke highly of Mags and recommended her to be recruited. Admittedly the healer had heard very little about the Herald and was surprised, though more inspired, to discover that he was an elf. The elves that she had encountered were...uneasy about her presence and it was refreshing to meet one that seemed almost shy.

With some of the freshly retrieved elfroot in hand she started mashing together a much needed healing salve. She reached for her notes half way through, scanning with a free finger against the paper for what was needed next when some abrupt shouting pulled her out of her work. Irritated and with a twitch of her brow she turned in her chair to see the advisors and Cassandra arguing around the campfire in the middle of the camp.

“This is _ ridiculous! _ How could you let him go into the snow like that? Now we’ve lost the Herald _ and _Ser Marius!” Cullen fumed.

  
“Cullen please-” Josephine started, trying to calm them but Cullen cut her off, continuing. 

“You didn’t even try to stop him, Leliana!” 

She snorted at that and crossed her arms. “You think any of us could’ve stopped Ser Marius? What would the point be? He’s right. We_ need _ the Herald,”

“We don’t know that they’re both lost, Commander,” Cassandra spoke up. “For all we know they-”

Cullen snapped his gaze to her next with his brows still furrowed, and nostrils flared. Once he realized that Cassandra’s eyes were wide open- round even- and that her brows raised high in shock he turned to see what she was staring at and quickly mirrored her expression. The other advisors, confused, followed their gaze.

_______

Each step leaden, Ser Marius emerged over the crest of the mountain. By his side walked Munchy, Shredder perched atop one of the beast’s antlers. Held in Marius’ arms was their Herald and from the looks of it, he was badly injured and pale and in desperate need of medical attention. Cassandra, Ranulf and Cullen wasted no time. Cullen sprinted to Marius’ side, eager to help carry anything he could and removed the added weight of Marius’ pack. Ranulf, spotting his master returning, picked up a few items he had evidently kept aside for this moment. He followed Cullen closely behind with spare fur cloaks in hand. 

Cassandra called out to Mother Giselle and Mags to prepare a bed and supplies for the Herald. 

“Are you alright Ser Marius? Do you need help with the Herald?” Cullen asked as he pulled the white fur cloak off of the noble’s shoulders. As he did that, Ranulf replaced it with another fur cloak, it wasn’t as large or as thick but it had been warmed by the campfire. Then he offered his Lord a waterskin. 

“It’s good to have you back, my lord,” 

Marius smiled at his old friend and followed Cassandra to the medical tent and towards one of the makeshift beds that Mags pointed out. Beside it was a table with medical supplies, fresh linens, a pale of warmed water, assorted potions and the salve, that she had made earlier still sitting in the mortar, all set neatly and ready. Cullen, took care of Munchy, leading him to where they kept the horses and Shredder remained close to Lian. She perched on Marius’ shoulder as they moved. The bird stared him in the eyes for a moment, her gaze almost seemed softer and he could have sworn there was an appreciation reflected in them. Carefully, he laid Lian down gently in the bed that Mags chose.

“I need space to work,” Mags huffed before the small crowd that had gathered could get any bigger. Mother Giselle began to prepare and Marius insisted on staying, he chose a spot that would be out of their way and close enough to assist, if he was needed. Mother Giselle covered the bottom half of Lian’s body with some furs to keep him warm as they worked. Together Mags and Mother Giselle carefully sat Lian upright, propping him up against Mags’ shoulder and Mother Giselle removed his tattered overcoat and leather tunic. Giselle stopped for a moment, her mouth partially open in shock as she removed the last article of clothing over his torso. From where the Marius was seated, it was hard for him to tell what Mother Giselle was gawking at. He did however manage to briefly catch the trio of old gashes in the elf’s left shoulder. 

“We all have scars, Revered Mother.” He spoke softly as Mags and Giselle laid Lian back down after stowing away the clothes, for a brief moment he caught a glimpse of three large old slashes that ran from his left peck and across his abdomen, ending just above his stomach as Mags guided him back down gently. Upon seeing those too, he added, “Some of us have more of them than others, have lived harder lives.”

His brows furrowed a little at the sight as he wondered. _ What happened to the little elven boy? _Internally, he made a note to find out about the scars.

“Indeed, Ser Trevelyan, but such an injury-“ Mother Giselle started.

“-My Little Brother is strong, Revered Mother, stronger than perhaps he knows.” He looked upwards from Lian to her then with a sad smile.

“You call him ‘brother’?”

“We are all the Maker’s children, no?” 

Mother Giselle smiled and gave a small nod.

They worked quickly. First they cleaned the blood off of him and out of his golden hair before Mags spread the elfroot salve over the ring of puncture wounds that the red lion had left behind. Then the wounds were wrapped in fresh bandages. The salve was working quickly, the angry red tinge in his skin, around the marks and dressings, were already fading away. Mags paused for a split second, raising her brows and twitching her lips before pulling the furs over Lian’s chest and up to his chin. “He’s very lucky you found him. He’s lucky to even be alive,” 

Mags picked up her stool and repositioned herself closer to the end of the bed where she could clean and dress the wound in his leg. When Marius looked at Lian again he noticed that the familiar red blush of his cheeks had returned, it brought a smile to his face and he sighed in relief. The two women made sure he was covered and warm before they packed up, making sure he was in a fresh change of clothes before they left. As soon as they did, Cassandra, Dorian and Varric came over to see them. 

“He’ll- He’ll be alright won’t he?” Varric pulled a seat over.

Dorian sat at the front of the tent, close enough to still be warmed by the fire. He muttered, almost inaudibly about Lian being a ‘bloody martyr’.

“He’s already looking a lot less pale than when Ser Marius found him,” Cassandra attempted to reassure the dwarf as she stared at Lian. The elf looked almost _ peaceful _at that moment. There was no crease between his brows and even his jaw seemed relaxed. 

Varric sighed. “Before you joined us, Goldy, Cub here accidentally got sent into the _ future. _ Before that he was well. Grouchy,” He chuckled, shrugged and crossed his arms. “He didn’t really seem _ interested _ in making friends or telling us much about himself, we figured he wasn’t really a people person. Then when he came back from the future he _ hugged _us,” 

“It was a surprise, certainly,” Cassandra added in. “I thought he wasn’t particularly fond of me, not that I didn’t give him reason to be,”  
  
“You held him prisoner! Like me!”

“This isn’t about _ you, _Varric,”

He scoffed at her before turning back to Marius. “What I was getting at is. After that experience I realized Cub might just have trouble opening up to people,” He turned his gaze to the sleeping elf for a moment. “He’s… less closed off since he’s met you. You’re good for him. He’s my friend, thanks for saving him,”

“I actually knew Lian from childhood. He must have been eight or nine years old when I first met him. He was lost and upset, in an effort to cheer him up I took him for an adventure in Ostwick. He’s my little brother, no thanks is needed, Varric,” The tall noble smiled warmly. 

_______

Later that day when the sun and the last of its orange glow faded over the horizon, Lian finally stirred, at first it was a low grunt from a nearby Bronto as it foraged through the snow-covered ground for food that had disturbed him. He turned his head to the side, feeling like sleep was but a breath away when he was abruptly pulled from it by distant shouting.

“What would you have me tell them?” Cullen’s voice, angrier than he’d ever heard it. Even than when that recruit had been caught sleeping on guard. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”  
  
“That it must be done, nonetheless!” Marius, his great white cloak drawn around him, glowered from where he stood against a tent post. “No one else can or will!”  
  
“Ser Marius is right, we must find a way!” Cassandra answered, stood beside the big man.  
  
“And who put you in charge?” Cullen snapped. “We need a consensus or we have nothing!”  
  
“Oh, shall we have a debate, gather everyone for an audience?” his friend’s voice was scornful. “Perhaps they can vote on a course of action _ if they haven’t already frozen to death _ !”  
  
“That isn’t what the Commander meant, Ser Marius.” Josephine put in, her placatory tones strained to breaking point.  
  
“I’m aware!” Marius all-but snarled the words.

He sat up slowly, grunting when the action drew more effort out of him than usual, the dull aches seemed to be all over his body and he couldn’t help but groan. 

“Shh. You need to rest,” Mother Giselle was by his bedside and it took him a moment to realise that he had no recollection of getting here. _ What happened? _He asked himself. The violent struggle came back to him in flashes. First he was caught off guard, attacked by a red lion, shrouded in the cover of the blizzard. Then they fought to the death, ironically each having the goal to walk away alive. He remembered the frenzied hunger in its eyes when it lunged at him for the final time and he remembered its weight collapsing on top of him. But then what happened after? 

“Please, we must use reason!” Lady Montilyet’s tone had moved from conciliatory to outright pleading. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”  
  
“That can’t come from nowhere!” Cullen barked.  
  
“She never said it could!” Leliana spoke up, her Orlesian lilt turned harsh in defence of her friend.  
  
“ _ Enough! _ ” Cassandra intervened, exasperation in every tone. “This is getting us nowhere!”  
  
“Well we’re agreed on that much!” Cullen scoffed.  
  
“I wasn’t aware snipery was a part of Templar training, _ Captain _ .” Marius shot back. “It what you learn instead of logistics?”  
  
“I said enough!” Cassandra’s words were a roar now.  


The angry shouts through clenched teeth drew his attention back to the advisors arguing in the middle of the camp. Laying his eyes on Marius’ face triggered another memory to surge to the front. It was still faint and he almost wasn’t sure if it really happened. He could have sworn Marius had found him, he remembered feeling a weight being lifted off of him and the warmth along with it and then he felt a pain in his leg. 

“How…,” It surprised the elf how croaky and dry his throat felt, he was grateful that Mother Giselle seemed to know what he needed. As soon as he spoke and reached up to massage his throat she turned slightly to the table beside her, retrieving a cup and offering it to him. Once he downed the cup’s contents he passed the cup back to her. 

“Thank you, Mother Giselle.” he said, trying to make sense of the swimming mass of memories crowding his head. “Did.. Did Marius bring me here?”

“Yes,” She answered, following his gaze to the fight that was still ongoing. 

“How long have they been at it?” The elf mumbled.

“Long enough. Though, they have that luxury, thanks to _ you _. The enemy could not follow and with time to doubt… we turned to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this ‘Corypheus’,”

“And he hasn’t found us?”

Mother Giselle shook her head. “We are not sure where _ we _are. Which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him,” 

“Someone needs to stop them from fighting,” Lian dragged his legs off of the bed and realised he wasn’t in his armor and despite that, they felt unusually heavy. Once he lifted the furs away he noticed he was in a fresh change of clothes and he could see a bandage woven over the right of his clavicle, where the lion had bitten him. He felt his cheeks grow hot for a moment, wondering who, if anyone, had seen his scars. Perhaps not Mother Giselle, she wasn’t staring at him with wide eyes, like how he thought someone would react to seeing them. He brushed the thought away, eager to calm the fight but before he could try to stand, the revered mother spoke up again.

“Another voice won’t help, Herald. Even yours. Perhaps, especially _ not _ yours,”

Lian felt his heart drop, almost as if it had caved into his stomach. She was right, it was _ his _ fault that they were in this mess after all. It was he who had probably caused the explosion at the Conclave and in his efforts to make it right he angered an old darkspawn magister that _ destroyed _ Haven trying to get to _ him. _He lowered his head. All those people… he couldn’t blot out what he’d seen. He remembered that terrible night as clear as day. He could still make out the lifeless glassy look in the soldier’s eyes and the desperate hope for life crushed beneath the boots of the cruel Venatori. He curled his fingers tightly into a fist until his knuckles were white and his nails dug crescents into his skin. 

“Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand… and fall. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear and the _ more _our trials seem ordained,” 

He relaxed his hands for a moment at Giselle’s words and lifted his head hesitantly.

“That is hard to accept, no? What ‘we’ have been called to endure? What ‘we’ perhaps, must come to believe?” She lowered her head in kind, perhaps to level her eyes with Lian’s. “Our people know what they saw. Or, perhaps, what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are _ not _with us?”

“If the Maker was real he wouldn’t have let all of those people _ die! _” He didn’t mean to hiss and as quickly as the words came in the way that they did, he regretted it and stopped himself. “I’m sorry Mother Giselle. I didn’t mean to snap… I just. I want to believe but I don’t know if I do and… even if I did. Corypheus is a real, physical threat and I need more than belief to fight him… whether the Maker is real or not, I felt alone,” With that he stood up, walking away to find a quiet spot on his own. It looked like the advisors had finally stopped fighting and each retreated to their own quiet corners.

_ If the Maker was real… Let alone if any god was real. They were cruel. _ He glared at the dirt. 

_ “Shadows fall _

_ And hope has fled. _

_ Steel your heart _

_ The dawn will come, _

_ The night is long _

_ And the path is dark _

_ Look to the sky _

_ For one day soon _

_ The dawn will come,” _

The revered mother’s melody carried itself with a powerful yet soft strength. She stepped forward and just out from beneath the cover of the tent. As if it were a fairytale the horses, Munchy and Shredder and the rest of the survivors of Haven all grew quiet. Not a peep, a whisper or a chirp was heard once Mother Giselle had began to sing the Chantry hymn. The elven rogue blinked, looking upward from the ground as he took in the lyrics. As Giselle sung, she met his glance briefly with a short warm smile.

_ “The shepherd's lost _

_ And his home is far _

_ Keep to the stars _

_ The dawn will come _

_ The night is long _

_ And the path is dark _

_ Look to the sky _

_ For one day soon _

_ The dawn will come,” _

The song seemed to lift the spirits of everyone in the camp. First Leliana joined Mother Giselle and her voice bolstered the anthem with the same energy. Cullen joined in too and Marius soon after. The tall noble’s voice was deep but just as melodious, a complimentary contrast to every other voice in the camp. The townspeople joined in and began moving through the camp _ towards _ Lian, the Herald. He hadn’t noticed them yet, he was thinking about the lyrics of the song, once he actually thought about being a bard, but the instruments were difficult to play. _ People from all walks of life find comfort in knowing that the sun will rise again… _ He thought to himself as he listened. A movement in the corner of his eye brought him out of his thoughts long enough to notice that more people were coming forward. _ Er… what is going on here? _ He looked at Mother Giselle, her expression didn’t reflect his at all. It’s like she _ knew _ what was happening. _ Oh no, don’t you do that. _ Lian groaned mentally and resisted the urge to squirm and shrink away. _ Please, please stand back up before the others- _ Before he could finish the silent plea it looked like the entire camp was kneeling before him. _ Why. Why are they kneeling!? _ He honestly couldn’t understand it. He had to be _ missing something. _ All he could see in himself was an ordinary person who’d tried and _ failed, miserably, _ to lead the Inquisition. The only things he managed to do was seal the Breach-which he did with help- and buy enough time for the people to escape. To escape from a mess that _ he _ created. Everyone was _ kneeling _ before him and he couldn’t stand tall or proud. It would be difficult to do, to accept this…praise. A praise he didn’t feel that he deserved. The ones that _ did _deserve it… were no longer with them. Once the song of valor came to an end, everyone cheered and appeared to be in much higher spirits than before. Slowly the crowd dispersed and the people resumed their tasks with a renewed vigor. 

The hymn was an inspiring one, its words gave Lian hope and even comfort. He thought about laying back down, after warming himself up by the fire for a little while, when a woman approached him and extended a bowl towards him.

“You should eat, lad. You slept for quite a while,” Mags smiled and he realised she was probably right, as soon as the meal’s scent hit his nose his stomach gave a short growl. 

“_ Mags,” _ She introduced herself and started to explain: “When Marius brought you back, Mother Giselle and I patched you up, I’ll be in the medical tent if you need anything, Herald,” 

“T-thanks,” Lian couldn’t help but lower his gaze as a pink hue highlighted his cheeks, thankfully Mags had already started to leave when the blush spread and soon she was gone. He felt a little guilty that he couldn’t quite meet her gaze to thank her properly. His body was marred with countless scars. Scars that Mags and Mother Giselle had doubtlessly seen and those marks were one of the many things that made him feel distant and different to other people- perhaps even self-conscious. 

Not long after Lian emptied his plate, His old friend walked over and joined him, sitting down beside him on the log and he pat Lian on the back.  
  
“Well that was a nice sing-song, eh? Some lovely top tenors, though it seemed like I was the only bass in the entire group,” The warrior chuckled briefly and his gaze softened. “You okay?”

“I don't know, truthfully. But I _ am _ alive, thanks to you,” The elf answered, returning Marius’ smile.

Marius laughed again. “I only pulled you out of the snow, you were the one somehow surviving avalanches,”

“_ And _ a red lion,” Lian added in with a crooked smile and his friend gave him another pat on the back.  
  
“You were right, Little Brother, you're a hard man to kill.”

_ ‘Little brother’ _ In that very moment, Lian was moved. All he could do was look up at Marius and smile because, for the first time in a long time and in the midst of everything, he was _ happy. _So happy that he could cry. Until that very moment, he didn’t realise just how much he wanted and perhaps needed a brother. Almost instinctively he stopped the chain of thought, afraid that he may have been making a bigger deal of it than it was. He looked downward at the empty bowl still in hand before looking back up to Marius, curiously. 

“_ Little brother? _” Lian asked hesitantly and Marius looked at him then whilst he ran a hand through his hair and then pointed between his eyes and then Lian’s, smiling. 

“Golden hair, blue eyes, for a start. And it’s not like I’d walk into a blizzard for just _ anyone _ ,” He gave Lian a cheeky, tooth filled grin. “Nor is it like _ you _ could be the big brother. ‘Cause you're small, see?,” He nudged the elf playfully. When the small smile faded from Lian’s lips his friend gave him a look. 

Lian knew this look. Like a picture, it was worth many words. He recognised that affectionate gaze in Marius’ deep blue eyes. It was the same look he gave to his little sister. With only that look he’d said to her ‘I _ love _ you. I’d do anything for you’.  
  
Now he knew what it was like to be given it.

_______

“A word?”  
  
Solas’ words drew Lian from his revery. For a time he and Marius - his _ brother _ \- had sat in companionable silence, but now the big man was off reviewing the sentries. Looking up, he saw his fellow elf looking down at him, head cocked to indicate they should take a walk.

“Sure, Solas, but can we talk here? By the fire?” Lian motioned toward the empty space on the log beside him. It was odd that Solas was still up, everyone else in the camp had retired to their tents, no doubt sound asleep. Sleep. From the very moment Lian was exiled from his clan, sleep became elusive, in varying degrees. Sometimes he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, not for hours. Other times he would wake up frequently, forgetting that he’d left the Silent Plains behind a long time ago. It would take him a few minutes to remember that he was _ safe. _As safe as one could be in a bed with other people nearby. Though remembering he was in a bed was certainly easier to do now than it was for the first few years he’d moved to Vyrantium. Even now, he’d woken in cold sweat, plagued by a nightmare. As bright as the rekindled fire was, its light couldn’t cleanse the images from his mind. He dreamt about the faces of his soldiers. The ones that perished and the frightened faces of the ones that soon joined the former. As curious as Solas’ approach was, it was welcome, especially right now. 

“You seem troubled,”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Solas, I hope you understand,” 

“Fair enough,” Solas turned his gaze to the bright flecks that the fire flicked into the air. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Her faith is hard-won, lethallan, worthy of pride… save one detail...The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived… and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people,” 

“How do you know all this Solas? Do you know what it is?” He turned a little to face the fellow elf. 

“Such things were ‘foci’, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remain are references in ruins and faint visions of memory in the fade. Echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _ is _ elven and with it he threatens the heart of human faith,”  
  
“Thanks for letting me know Solas. I’ll find a way to deal with it but for now. I’m gonna try going back to sleep,” 

_______

_ “Scout to the north, be their guide,” _

With what Solas said in mind, Lian raised his forearm that his bird was perching on. Shredder waited patiently for his command, knowing she was being prepared for flight. 

“_ Shiral, lana vir vhen vhenas _ ,” He spoke to her and with a flick of his arm she was in the air and beating her wings as she ascended. After that he stopped and turned to the people following him. He was glad that Marius was reunited with most of the Ironsides during their journey through the mountains. That had been a good day, full of joy at friends reunited and alliances remade. His brother had hugged practically every one of his cavalrymen, it had seemed like, slapping them on the back and addressing each by name.  
  
But there had also been sorrow. Of Marius’ Ironsides, sixty had not returned, either dead or otherwise lost. Of the Inquisition’s cavalry, another ninety were gone, and between the two groups there were many more injured or at least carrying wounds. Lian’s gaze shifted to where Marius was striding powerfully beside one of the hastily-constructed hospital wagons, now being drawn by two of the Ironsides’ massive chargers. His old friend was chatting amiably to those riding in the wagon’s bed, keeping their spirits up. Again, the guilt closed in as he thought about the men and women lying injured - perhaps even dying - in that cart. They were suffering for him, _ because _ of him.  
  
It must have shown on his face, because when Marius looked up at him he excused himself, before catching up to the elf with a few strides.

“I know what you’re thinking, little brother,” The taller man wrapped his arm around Lian, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “But they’re soldiers, Lian. They knew they might be injured, knew that they might die. And those that did died well, against impossible odds and against a deadly enemy. We mourn, we remember, and we _ move forward _.” The noble smiled down gently at him. 

The elf forced a corner of his mouth into a small smile. “I just feel like... if I'd done things differently. Maybe waited until Haven was more defensible or something... it wouldn't have happened the way that it did,”

“Lian. I made Haven as defensible as a little village in the mountains could be.” Marius said, bluntly, raising a golden brow. “You are not to blame for that goat-fuck, Corypheus is.”

After the irresistible guffaw Marius’ words produced, Lian nonetheless pondered what the big man had said for a moment. “You’re right...I still want to do better,”

I _ will _ do better, _ be _better. He thought to himself as he turned back again, still worried for the soldiers who he saw being carried on stretchers by their fellows and he worried about the people that weren’t fighters. He insisted that Munchy help pull some of the supplies, along with a small child as their mother walked alongside them. Despite the hard journey in shin-high snow uphill, everyone’s spirits carried them ever forwards.

Lian, on the other hand was struggling with traversing the snowy landscape. Despite being prepared for the cold with proper boots, warm clothes and even a fur cloak wrapped around him he felt unbearably cold. He wondered how Fereldans could _ possibly _stand it. Oddly, the question brought another thought to the forefront. He originally came to Fereldan to kill an abusive slaver when he stumbled into the Conclave. 

That was when he first met Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and the Nightingale, Leliana. It was an uncomfortable meeting, him finding himself surrounded by guards with their swords pointed at him. Leliana was astonished that her sources found almost nothing about Lian, where he was from or what his name even was. Lian was honestly surprised that they didn’t kill him for that alone. Mysterious _ and _ having a weird and never before seen magic? That certainly didn’t help his case. He answered every question as honestly as he could. As he worked closely with the Inquisition, Leliana helped him track the slaver, that he originally came for, down and then Lian dealt with him. Originally, Lian planned to return to Vyrantium and continue his work but since the explosion at the Conclave he stayed. He was sure it was temporary and that he wouldn’t be gone for more than perhaps a few months, at first he stayed to help seal the Breach but once that was done, new problems took its place. One of the problems being Corypheus, Lian frowned as he realised that it may be years before he saw his home again. An undefined amount of time that he could be here made it feel like he would _ never _return home.

A couple of hours later, Shredder’s cry pierced the sky and she dived down, slowing down dramatically before landing gently on Lian’s forearm once more. 

“Found something, girl?” He smiled at her and she gave him a confirming chirp. “Good job, Shredder! Think you can show us the way?” Another chirp and she took off, gliding above them and leading the way. Within the next few hours Shredder lead Lian onto a large snow-covered boulder, with Solas close behind. The two elves laid their eyes upon a massive fortress, it looked like it may take a _ day _to get there, but that didn’t matter. They had a place to go. 

“Skyhold,” Solas introduced the fortress. Lian guessed that Solas’ knowledge of it must have come from the fade like many other things that the elven mage was knowledgeable in. He was right about it taking almost a day to get there. They stopped to rest and set up a temporary camp for the final time. 

_______

  


Finally, they reached Skyhold. The fortress was _ massive _ . The structure was built _ into _the very top of the mountain and in spite of that it didn’t look procarius. After they passed the front gate into the stronghold they noticed that much of it was in disarray. Some of the battlements were ruined and their rubble littered the ground below. Other than that, the building looked well kept, one could easily mistake it for a new building if not for the rubble. The most surprising discovery was the thriving vegetation. Even from a distance it was clear that Skyhold contained tall and healthy trees. The ground was covered in grass rather than snow and there were plenty of shrubs and even flowers scattered around the courtyard. The Inquisition set up a temporary camp in the courtyard of the fortress. Everyone was exhausted from days of trekking through the snow, some carrying the extra weight of much needed supplies or a fellow in need. Not that they minded or had much choice. Stars speckled the dark blue and purple night’s sky as the people below bustled around the camp, conversing with each other and having a late supper before they would soon retreat to their temporary beds. They spent almost a week in the snowy wilderness, half of the time spent waiting for some of the people to recover enough to be able to travel at all. The journey itself took almost three days and to the travellers it felt like far longer than that, trudging through deep snow up a mountain was tiring. Lian was beyond tired, plagued every night with nightmares. Still haunted by the men and women lost at Haven, he hoped he could sleep. In an effort to feel safer he opted to sleep in one of the tower rooms instead of beneath the stars. He hadn’t slept beneath the stars for many years now and couldn’t think of doing it again. Ever since he left the Free Marches he’d slept in either a cave, an apartment or a small cabin like in Haven. Being surrounded by walls or enclosed in a tent provided enough comfort and safety for him to be able to sleep at all. His eyelids were heavy as he cocooned himself in furs that night. Shredder perched on the windowsill, watching over Lian as he drifted off uneasily to sleep. 

Lian only jolted awake twice that night and despite that he felt well rested when the sun rose. He got dressed and wrapped himself in a cloak, since he unfortunately lost his favourite wooly sweater, before he stepped outside. Voraciously he wolfed down his breakfast and out of the corner of his vision he noticed a pair of eyes on him. He paused, smiling sheepishly when Cassandra raised a brow at him before waving for him to come over. He swallowed his food and set down his plate before walking over, the other advisors split off. They were already talking about what the next step should be and where and how to set up the fortress as Cassandra lead him away from them and up the stone staircase. 

“They arrive daily from ever settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage,” Cassandra remarked as she noticed Lian looking down over the crowd that was starting to build within the courtyard below. “We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated,” 

“You’ve got _ that _right,” Lian agreed as his eyes widened a little. “I wanted to help close the breach and now we have an ancient Tevinter arsehole on our hands,”

“At least we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you,”

“My gall and the anchor, apparently,” Lian mused.

“Regardless of whether or not you were chosen by Andastre, that is not why you are here now. You are that creature’s rival because of what _ you _did. And we know it, all of us,”

_ What exactly did I do and who is ‘all of us’ _Lian wondered as the seeker led him up the next flight of stairs. 

“The Inquisition requires a leader: The one who has _ already _been leading it,” 

_ I don’t like where I think this is going Cassandra. _The Herald’s brows furrowed with suspicion as he glanced upward past her. Leliana was standing ready, holding out a ceremonial greatsword. Across the decorative weapon’s grip and cross guard snaked a dragon, the creature was carved smoothly in a golden metal and its mouth was open in a snarl over the chappe. It started to dawn on Lian, as he looked down to discover a sea of faces looking to him with anticipation, that this… ceremony had been orchestrated from the very moment Cassandra had waved him over. 

“_ You _ ,” She finished. Lian couldn’t help but stare at her wide eye’d. As if he were a hala who’d just looked up to see a bow and arrow pointed at it. He was frozen in shock and he had no clue how he’d stopped his jaw from dropping or how Cassandra had come to this conclusion. _ Fasta Vass! _He cursed to himself. 

“Cassandra, what makes you think I’d be a good leader!? You saw what happened at Haven!” 

“That was not_ your _ fault. _ You _ fought with all your heart to protect the people of Haven and _ you _ faced Corypheus alone to make sure that the people could escape even when you were uncertain if you would have the same chance. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead: That must be _ yours _to decide,”

Lian took the sword, holding it for a moment that stretched into an impossibly long time for him as he thought about it. Why on Thedas did everyone believe _ he _ was the best choice as a leader!? He knew _ nothing _ of it. All he was, was an exiled Dalish elf who then became a vigilante in the Tevinter Imperium. He had no tactical strategies or even knowledge to offer them. He looked down over the crowd again, they all seemed so hopeful that he would accept the role. They… they’re really placing their hope in _ me? _ He couldn’t believe it. Perhaps Cassandra was right. He thought back to what she said to him when he returned from Redcliffe, after allying with the mages. I’m going to need a _ lot _ of help along the way… but maybe Cassandra and the rest of them are right. _ Maybe. _ As he thought more he realised that he couldn’t deny that every decision he made was with what was in the best interest of the Inquisition and now, the _ world. _That was what he’d been doing in Tevinter wasn’t it? Trying to make it a better place? He looked to Cassandra again and Leliana, searching for reassurance in their eyes. Satisfied with an encouraging nod from each of them he gripped the sword firmly as he turned to the crowd below and cleared his throat.

“We have an enemy and we have to stand together. The Inquisition will do what is right. The Inquisition will fight for all of us. We are _ one _people,” Lian made a conscious effort to stand tall and confidently before them.

“Have the people been told?” Cassandra raised her voice.

“They have!” Lady Montilyet called back. “And soon, the world!”

“Commanders, will they follow?” The Seeker called to Marius and Cullen.

“Inquisition, will you follow?” Marius bellowed and the crowd roared in collective confirmation.

“Will you fight?” Cullen continued and the people cheered with the same vigor as before.

“Will we triumph?” Marius asked them, standing tall amongst them at Cullen’s side. 

“Your Leader,” Both of the commanders began and drew their swords, pointing it upwards in a salute to Lianthorn. “ Your Herald, Your Inquisitor!” 

At that, Lian raised the ceremonial sword up high, pointing it towards the clouds and in all his life he had never heard a crowd cheer as loudly as they were.


	9. Chapter 9

It was dawn’s arrival, in brilliant hues of purple and gold, that awoke Marius Trevelyan from slumber. Yawning, he blinked rapidly as the first rays of what promised to be a crisp, clear morning found a gap through the heavy curtains that had been drawn across the window of his small room fell upon his face and drew him from the sweet embrace of sleep. Rather than feeling groggy at such an early awakening, long familiarity with early starts after scant hours of sleep meant he felt refreshed and ready for the day ahead. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm, before running his hands through his golden mane of hair to bring it to some semblance of order. Letting one fall to the straw mattress, he let the other run across his bearded jawline. It did not yet need Ranulf’s attentions with a pair of scissors. 

As though summoned by the thought of him, his valet’s familiar knock came at the iron-banded door.    
  
“Enter.” he called, swinging his legs over the side of his bed as the door opened.    
  
Stepping inside with the same brisk, controlled economy of movement with which he did everything, his old companion shut the door behind him. “Good morning, my Lord.” 

“Good morning.” Marius answered, before directing his attention to the large ceramic bowl that lay upon the wooden tray Ranulf had balanced easily in one hand. “What have you there?”    
  
“Breakfast, my Lord.” the older man pronounced, setting the tray down at the small table scant steps from the bed. “I thought, owing to the busy nature of your day, that a simple meal of porridge would be appropriate, rather than any great platter of meats and other such things.” 

“Good call, old friend.” Marius nodded, seeing the wisdom in his valet’s choice, before raising a golden brow. “Is-”

“The honey - a delightful mountain blend sourced just nearby - has already been stirred into it, my Lord.” Ranulf, as ever, easily predicted his question, with something of a knowing smile kinking his lips. It had been a request forged in Marius’ childhood, that any porridge was preferably to be sweetened with honey. 

Sharing the smile with his oldest companion, Marius stood and padded over to the table, whilst Ranulf busied himself with his customary duties: resetting the bed and laying out his clothes for the day. Ladling a first few blessed mouthfuls of the porridge into his mouth after a customary prayer of thanksgiving, Marius looked over at where Ranulf was working. The sight of the rumpled bedclothes being restored to proper order made him smile, mainly because he remembered what had so rumpled them. Or, rather,  _ who _ .    
  
Lady Aliena de Coursillon was an enchanting woman, whose acquaintance he had first made at the Spring Ball in Val Royeaux nearly five years ago now. She’d been a new debutante, freshly presented to the empress, having reached her eighteenth year mere weeks before. They’d talked, they’d danced, and then she’d practically  _ dragged _ him into the gardens of the Palace. What had begun in the shadows of statues and slender alders had ended in his chambers, to mutual enjoyment. She’d not changed much in the intervening years and it hadn’t taken much to rekindle the spark. An inviting look, a slight smile, and she’d been at his door not long after the dinner to welcome her had ended.

Images from last night flitted through his mind, fixing the smile on his face as he ate. The look in her eyes as he opened the door, the pale alabaster of her skin as she shrugged off her dress, letting it puddle at her feet, the artful tumble of her auburn hair as she pulled it free from a gold fret, the intense joy each had found after falling - laughing - into bed together. Yes, Lady Aliena had changed  _ very  _ little in the years since Val Royeaux. She’d be off again soon, back to her family’s estates, having delivered their message of support and a token donation to the Inquisition, but there  _ was  _ another night left before her departure. Marius grinned at the idea, even as his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. 

Putting such thoughts aside, he stood and looked at the clothes Ranulf had laid out. His favourite jacket was being cleaned, but the garb Ranulf had chosen were fine as well. Pulling on his breeches, he gratefully accepted the crisp white woolen shirt Ranulf handed to him and pulled it on. The dark blue doublet he was handed next was not an extravagant thing, more warm and hard-wearing than ornamental, but even then it had a frissant of embellishment with its silver stitching. Donning it, he let his valet lace up the pair of embossed leather bracers that closed around his wrists, before kneeling to do up his own tall boots. To ask or even expect Ranulf to do that would be a step too far. The ensemble was completed by a white cloak, held in place by a white gold pin in the shape of a roaring lion. 

Fully garbed, Marius buckled on his belt and hung his dagger from it, before turning to his old companion and spreading his arms wide. “Well?” 

“Dashing, as ever, Master Marius.” Ranulf answered, with a smile. The sly and playful light in the older man’s eyes robbed the words of their servile air.

Grinning back, Marius turned and made for the door. It was the start of a new day and he had work to do.

* * *

Stepping out of his small room, Marius paused and dragged in a deep breath of the cool, sweet mountain air. The feeling of it in his lungs was invigorating, putting almost a spring into his step as he crossed the castle’s garden to where a door led to the main hall. The garden was a marvel, so high up in the Frostbacks, and was a place of great serenity. At another time he would’ve been tempted to sit and contemplate, to enjoy the beauty of creation, but he had work to do. Perhaps later.

Despite the early hour, the hall was already filling. The Inquisition had been tested sorely at Haven, but they had recovered and now it seemed every count, arl, and bann wanted to make their commitment to the cause. Sat at benches breaking their fast, or clustered in small groups around the braziers that lit the hall, Rivaini chatted with Marchers, Nevarrans listened stoically to Antivans, and Fereldens and Orlesians glared daggers at each other. Just like any other gathering of international nobility he’d ever attended. It was still slow going, their influence and reputation still building. But it was better than being ‘those heretics squatting on land they don’t own’.

_ ‘We have an actual  _ ** _castle_ ** _ now, for one.’  _ he thought to himself, as he raised a hand in response to a called greeting from Arl Bryland of South Reach. Then, as he swayed to let a pair of workmen hauling blocks of stone towards the two large scaffolds built against the walls, he added.  _ ‘Though one that still needs work.’  _

That thought in his mind, he lengthened his stride, heading for the great iron-banded doors of the hall. He was not so quick that he could not mingle, however. A word here, a greeting there, a hand raised in greeting or a respectful nod. He spotted Lady Aliena and a quick and knowing pair of smiles passed between them, before she returned to speaking to a young Antivan banneret. 

“Fair morning, Varric!” he called to the dwarf, who was sitting at his now-accustomed spot beside one of the hall’s crackling hearths. 

Looking up, Varric’s face was the picture of misery. “Is that what you call it, Goldie? I was warmer in the Deep Roads.” 

Smirking and nodding farewell, Marius made a mental note to tell the dwarf of the winter he’d spent encamped in Vimmarks during the Albrecht Campaign against Markham. Now  _ that _ had been true, bone-gnawing cold.

Taking the steps two at a time, Marius reached the upper bailey quickly, before he turned and headed for the second set that would take him directly to the lower bailey. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cassandra and The Iron Bull training with a few of his Ironsides and some of the Inquisition’s forces. On another day he would’ve gone over and spoken with them, maybe even picked up a practice blade for himself. But not today. Thoughts about what needed to be done to complete Skyhold’s fortifications were rushing through his mind and he needed to talk them through with Master Sturhold to make sure they were tenable. A shame, as he liked their company, especially the Seeker’s, but duty was duty. He was a Commander of the Inquisition now, he had to serve his purpose. 

He found one of the Master Stonemason’s journeymen where he’d hoped one would be. Staring at the gaping hole in Skyhold’s outer wall. It had not been done by any engine, the siege engineer in him told him that. It was the work of the one enemy even he could not defeat: the slow decay of time. 

“Good day, Journeyman.” he called, approaching the dwarf, who was stood at a small trestle table, scribbling a few notes for his master on scraps of parchment. “Is Master Sturhold around?” 

“Commander Trevelyan.” the dwarf bowed, his voice rough, but respectful. “The master is in the dungeons, assessing the repairs to the foundations of the main keep.”

“Very good.” Marius answered, nodding as he remembered the reports he’d gone over with Lian, who in truth had no idea what they’d meant. “Will you go and tell him to see me when he’s done? I will be here. And I have some ideas I’d like to go through with him for our little problem over there.” He jerked his chin towards the large mound of tumbled masonry and infill.

“Yes, commander.” the dwarf grunted, bowing his head again and moving away.

Left to his own devices, Marius leant on the table, before turning his mind to what lay before him. The damage to the wall was bad, but not unmendable. But a repaired section of a wall was ever the weaker than that which surrounded it. So not repair, but  _ replacement _ was needed. And that need could be turned to fresh advantage. Taking up some spare parchment and the stick of charcoal the dwarf had been using, he began to sketch. He was no draughtsman, no architect, but he had the mind of a siege engineer and the ability to apply that knowledge. 

On and on he drew, adding detail as he went, routinely looking up to both judge distance and picture his idea in actuality, considering both need and comfort in his sketches. The parchment took the charcoal well and he swiftly moved onto a second piece and then a third as general ideas, half-formed in his mind, became fully realised designs and plans. For all the necessity of the work, he genuinely found himself enjoying it. 

“Commander Trevelyan?” a voice intruded on his sketching and he turned to see the short but heavily muscled form of Gatsi Sturhald, Master Mason to the Inquisition. “You wished to see me?”

“Yes, Master Sturhald,” he answered, before setting down the charcoal and gesturing towards the tumbled ruin of the eastern wall. “I have some ideas as to what to do with our problem here.” 

“So I see.” the stonemason said, stepping up beside him and picking up one of the pieces of parchment he’d laid aside. “A tower would be the best option indeed, stronger and sturdier than simply patching the wall. The foundations’ll hold, given the chance.” Cocking a brow at one of the sketches, he looked up. “If I might make some suggestions, Commander?”

“That is what I’d hoped you’d do.” Marius grinned. “I know more about knocking castles down than putting them up, after all.”   
  
With a rumbling chuckle at that, the dwarven mason set to. For what had to be close to an hour they stood, discussing first Marius’ sketches and then going through necessary changes and alterations, before running through it a third time to cement it all together into a single cohesive whole. The dwarf knew his craft well and Marius delighted in talking to him, absorbing the new knowledge every question and query granted him from within the master mason’ store of expertise. Finally, the plan was finalised. 

“So,” Master Gatsi said in summation. “A square tower, sixty-five feet tall, divided into six floors and with three of those floors above the wall. Each floor five-hundred square feet in total, with layouts differing in response to both need and purpose of each floor.”

“Can it be done with what we have?” Marius asked, knowing it was the only question worth asking. Their influence might be growing, but the Inquisition's supplies of materials and manpower were not yet limitless.

“A lot of the stone could be re-used with a little tending.” the dwarf answered. “And we have a decent supply from local quarries down in the valley. My men can do the skilled fitting and the like, but we’ll need maybe fifty fetch and carry men to both break up what’s left of that mess and bring up the new material. I get those and we could do it within a month, Stone willing.” 

“You’ll have them.” Marius nodded, before grinning. “It’ll be good conditioning for our more unseasoned recruits.” 

“As you say, Commander.” Master Gatsi didn’t smile, but there was a blunt amusement in his voice. “You get me the tenderfoots and I can make you- Inquisitor!”   
  
Turning at the exclamation, Marius’ smile became both broader and warmer as he saw Lian walking up, bundled against the cold. “Little Brother, good morning!” 

“Morning Marius, Master Gatsi,” He replied groggily and crossed his arms, digging his hands into the nooks provided by the wooly bends in his arms. Judging by the circles under his half-lidded eyes and partially disheveled hair, he mustn’t have been awake for long. His hazed blue eyes drifted over to the sketches that Marius made. “What’s that?”

“Plans for a new tower, to replace  _ that _ .” Marius answered, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the tumbled collapse of stonework that marred the line of Skyhold’s outer walls. “Master Gatsi and I had just finished finalising the plans, if you want to take a look?” 

Lian took the notes gently, roaming the project with his blue eyes. “Hm. You’ve both put a lot of thought into it. I don’t know if we have the resources for it,” He placed them back on the drafting table. He scratched at his chin idly as he furrowed his brows. “I’ve never built something like this before but I’ll help in any way I can,”

“No assistance needed, Inquisitor.” Master Gatsi nodded, gratefully. “We have the materials and Commander Trevelyan here has ‘volunteered’ fifty recruits for fetch and carry work. With them, putting up something like this shouldn’t take more than a month, if that.” 

“Let me walk you through it.” Marius said, excited to share his albeit-now-partial creation with his friend. “The tower itself will be built mainly of reclaimed stone from  _ that _ pile of rubble, along with fresh blocks quarried nearby. It’ll be easily the same size as the other towers, perhaps bigger than the one on the western walls.” As he talked he flicked back and forth between the now far more detailed architectural plans. “The first two floors will be storage: the lowest - same level as we are now - will service the stables, keeping tack and feed and other such things. Above we’ll have a secondary armoury, both for horse bardings and just general arms and armour. Always good to spread supplies out, in case of fire or even deliberate sabotage. The third level, which’ll be at the same height as the walls and have access to them, will be additional general storage, as well as servants’ quarters.” 

Lian raised a brow. “Servants quarters?”

Marius grinned. “Well you wouldn’t expect Ranulf to be quartered all the way across the keep, would you?”

The only response he received was a look of complete and utter incomprehension. 

“The upper two levels are  _ mine _ , Little Brother.” Marius said, flicking to the appropriate pages. “The second highest will be my solar, you know a receiving chamber? Some place to have friends and guests over to talk and drink and have a good time. And should we be besieged - unlikely as it is - it’ll also serve as a secondary war room. And the final, highest level will be my chambers. Can hardly expect me to keep taking up a room in the guest wing forever.” his grin became boyish. “Besides, Cullen has a tower. Only fair I have one too.” with that he playfully punched Lian’s shoulder. “What do you think?”

Lian’s eyes opened a little wider at the playful jab. “I think it’s going to be very useful and you and Ranulf  _ do  _ deserve a space of your own. Hope you don’t mind Munchy making noise every time you walk past,” 

As if on cue, Munchy whined loudly and reared up on his hind legs. 

Glaring at the decidedly strange creature, Marius grimaced. “I’ll use the wall walks.”

“Aw, don’t look at him like that!” Lian smiled. “I think he’s getting restless and since  _ I’m  _ here he thinks he’s going to get a treat, he’s not wrong. But still. I’m going to take him out for a bit, you can come with me if you want,” Lian started off towards Munchy with an apple behind his back. 

Shaking his head at the daftness of the creature in question, Marius nonetheless followed. “Lead on,  _ Inquisitor.  _ It’ll be good to get them warmed up, before the ride to Crestwood later.” 

Walking into the stables with a nod to Dennett, Marius moved to the stall that held his destrier. As ever, Rain was ready and alert, the great white stallion snorting in anticipation as he opened the stall door and let himself in whilst Lian attended to his decidedly different mount. Smiling, Marius patted the warhorse’s great neck,feeling the leashed power in the muscles beneath the snow-white coat. Rain was a magnificent example of an Ostwick Charger and had been his companion through many dangers. So used were they to one another that he was able to flick a glance as he finished his inspection and began to tack up to where his friend was attending to the strange beast that was his own companion.

“Hey buddy,” Lian said, reaching up to scratch the hart’s cheek, whose nostrils twitched as he must have picked up the scent of the apple which only prompted more noise as he opened the gate and checked over the animal. “We talked about this,” Like a true cavalryman, he spoke sternly and as if the hind could understand. Perhaps reacting to the tone of Lian’s voice, the creature stilled with its ears still alert. Only then did Lian offer it the apple whilst beginning to walk backwards. For all its excitement just moments ago, it took the fruit from his hand slowly and gingerly. 

Lian patted the beast, a smile on his face. “Good boy,” As the beast chewed quite noisily, Lian started saddling him up and climbed up with a short huff. With no apple left to occupy its attention, the beast happened to make eye contact with Marius for a moment before looking away quickly and folding its ears. “I’m sure you two will be friends in no time,” He patted it in reassurance.

_ ‘If that ever happens, Andraste will have come down and given me wings.’  _ Marius thought to himself as he continued the process of making his horse ready to ride. With the unconscious skill born of long practice, he set about tightening buckles and fixing straps, before at last Rain was fully saddled and ready for the off. The weight on his back from the simple - if finely decorated - riding saddle, far less intricate than a war saddle, had confirmed to him what he was about to be asked to do and he began to snicker and prance on the spot. Though he shared his friend’s desire to be away, Marius soothed the great heart, rubbing down his white coat and whispering calming words that had become habit over a lifetime of riding horses into his ear.

Taking a lead rein, Marius walked the massive warhorse out into the yard, followed shortly by Lian. They stayed dismounted on the walk out of the great gates and across the causeway to the massive winch-lift that led down to the valley below and its sea of tents. Only when they had descended and led their horses outside the winch-chamber did they mount. With an easy grace that few would believe for his size, the big man swung into the saddle, Rain only huffing slightly at the added weight. 

Before them was a snow-shrouded world, marked only by the tents and cooking fires of the Inquisition’s army and those visitors not well-regarded enough to be allotted rooms in the guest quarters. Nodding to Lian, Marius grinned as he touched his heels to his destrier’s flanks and they began their morning ride.

* * *

About an hour later, they were out beyond the lines of tents and in the valley proper. No sign of habitation was to be seen unless they looked behind them at Skyhold, sat atop its pinnacle of rock. All that surrounded them now was snow and ice, trees and the streams that fed them. Despite the need for them to return so they could make ready for their departure to Crestwood, Marius felt the need to linger. And not just because of the delightful surroundings.

“Now this is some country, eh Lian?” he said, turning to look at the elf beside him, a genuine smile of appreciation curling his lips beneath his beard. “It’s amazing how warm it stays up there in Skyhold.”    
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how  _ cold  _ it is,” Lian murmured quietly, just as he had in answer to everything he’d said since they’d gotten past the camp. It was as if some spell had fallen on him as soon as they were out of sight of the men. A spell that Marius knew well, that he had seen work its magics on many a young leader and officer under his command.

“Gregor and some of the Ironsides said they’d seen some bear tracks out this way when on patrol, I was thinking of organising a hunt.” he continued, trying to force a more engaged response. “It’ll keep the lads sharp and there’s good eating on bears, so long as you cook it right. Fancy coming along? Don’t know if you’ve ever hunted from horseback before.”    
  
Lian only nodded. “Hm.”

“We got a few more messages in, don’t know if you heard.” he tried again, taking a different tack as he gave Rain his head and focussed his full attention on his Little Brother. “People wanting to meet you, see if it’s worth joining the cause. Figured we might check it out after Crestwood.” 

This time he didn’t even get a verbal answer, just a shrug and far more half-hearted nod.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Marius levelled a theatrical level of breeziness and nonconcern into his next words. “Also I’ve decided to swear off wine, battle, and sex and become a Chanter for the rest of my days, hope that doesn’t inconvenience you too much.”

Lian continued staring off blankly for an elongated moment before evidently the words managed to sink in far enough. He suddenly whirled towards Marius, his brows raised in incredulity. “Wait, really?”

At the abrupt change, Marius could only laugh. “So you  _ are _ listening!” But then his humour faded and, guiding Rain with just the pressure of his knees, he turned the stallion into Lian’s path, bringing them both to a halt. “What’s wrong? You’ve been brooding like a mother hen the entire ride.” 

For a long moment, all was silent between them - save for the snuffling of Lian’s hart and the heavy breaths of Rain - but eventually Lian spoke, though not without a heavy sigh first. “I received a letter from Keeper Istimaethoriel asking for…_my _help,” he was frowning now, his hands clenched tight around the reins. “My-... Clan Lavellan is having a lot of trouble with _bandits _and the rifts near them aren’t helping.”  
  
Marius knew that was not all of it. It couldn’t be. Not from the small amount of detail he’d been able to pry out of his Little Brother over drinks about his clan. And what they did to him. “What else? What more did she write?”  
  
“She expressed how _proud_ she is of me and that she regrets troubling me. Like _that’s_ the worst thing she’s ever done,” Lian snarled, angrier now than Marius had ever seen him. “As if I was never exiled at all.”

A low growl curled up from Marius’ chest. He knew the type: those who took and did not count the cost. Those who thought their way was the only way and their actions the only right ones. At this moment he wanted nothing more than to have that Keeper in front of him, for if she ever was there would be a reckoning. For all he knew and for all he did not. Then, with a heavy breath that misted in the air like smoke from a dragon’s maw, he put aside the anger and let his mind turn upon the matter, a mind long-honed by years of war and command to predict and counter enemy strategy.

“If she writes what we know to be false, then she is either manipulative or a true enemy. And I would not risk sending you in alone against either.” he said, catching and holding his friend’s gaze. “As your Commander, I recommend sending Leliana’s agents to scout the situation and discover her  _ true  _ intent, whether simply malicious or hostile. And I am willing to wager my fellows on your war council would say the same. If all is somehow as she says, then they at least will be able to aid Clan Lavellan until we get there.” 

Lian frowned again. “ _ We? _ ”

At the absurdity of the question, Marius grinned. “There is no way on the Maker’s green and bounteous earth I would let you face that witch alone, Little Brother.” walking Rain alongside him, he put a hand to Lian’s shoulder, feeling the instinctive flinch and then the relaxing of the muscles beneath his grip. “I’ll be by your side, Lian, always.” 

Slowly, hesitantly, the elf reached up and covered the hand upon his shoulder with one of his own. Just as softly, a grateful smile kinked his lips. “Thank you, Marius.” 

Smiling more broadly, but just as warmly, Marius patted his friend’s shoulder. “You never need to say that, Little Brother. On my honour.” then, with another draconic exhalation, he let his smile become a grin as he turned his mind to the needs of the immediate future. “Come on, we should be getting back. Need to start getting ready for the ride to Crestwood. Ranulf’ll take care of the essentials but  _ I  _ have a surprise for you.” 

“What?” Lian answered, twisting in his saddle to look at him as he walked Rain past him. “Marius what have you done?” 

“You’ll see when we get back.” Marius called over his shoulder, before whipping his reins and touching his heels to his destrier’s flanks, immediately eliciting a burst of speed from the powerful charger. “Race you to the lift!” 

* * *

Lian’s shoulders hunched as Marius led him through the great hall which was bustling with all kinds of people. He could not shake the feeling that he was sticking out like a sore thumb with the way everyone would turn as he walked by, though it was probably the giant he was walking next to that garnered the attention. Whilst he nodded or spoke quick words of greeting to those who spoke to him, all the chatter seemed distant as he thought about what Marius had said to him earlier.  _ ‘I’ll be by your side, Lian, always.’  _ He’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders when he heard it. In truth, he was terrified of failing and of the creature that they were up against. He was afraid for his people; everyone.  _ One step at a time… _ He reminded himself. Hopefully this Warden contact will have the information they needed or, at the least, something to go on. 

He returned to the now just as Marius stopped a few stride-lengths ahead of him and held the door to the Undercroft open. 

“After you, little brother,” He said with a grin, tilting his head towards the open portal. 

Lian responded with a raised brow before moving past and down. But when he arrived in the Undercroft itself he all-but skidded to a halt, barely hearing the door close behind them. Harrit and Dagna were down below them, looking at him expectantly. In Dagna’s hands she held what looked like a folded set of white leather garments and in Harrits was a pair of leather gloves, bracers and boots. 

“Surprise! I hope you like it, Inquisitor!” Dagna beamed, proffering her items to him first. “Cured bronto hide, lined with Highever weave fabric,” She commented as Lian took the outer coat from her gently and tried it on. “They’re the best materials we have for the moment and the fabric’s got enough give in it for me to make it give you a  _ teensy  _ bit of protection from magic,” 

The slight shimmer in the red fabric reminded him of velvet and it felt as soft as it looked. The leather was neatly stitched together and there were two round gold buttons covering the spaces between his chest and shoulders. He took the bracers from Harrit next and strapped them securely to his arms. After fitting the rest of the new armor he walked up and down the area, growing more excited with each step. Despite the huge and ponderous animal that the hide came from, his new leather armor was lighter than his previous set and while it fitted well, it didn’t constrict his movements. 

Flexing his fingers, Lian at last looked back at Marius, Dagna and Harrit, a smile on his face.   
  
“I hope this wasn’t too much trouble to put together, I’m deeply grateful. T-thank you Marius, Dagna, Harrit… There must be some way I can repay you-” he stammered nervously. Gifts were rarely exchanged among the Dalish. He’d received tokens of gratitude from freed slaves but no one had ever gone to so much trouble to  _ make  _ something for him before.    
  
“You  _ saved  _ us, Inquisitor,” Harrit reminded him with a slight chuckle and crossed his arms. “It’s the least that we can do for you.” 

“Besides, you need some new gear if we’re to go hunting this Corypheus and his army of demons. Hard to wage war against the First Evil in a coat that you managed to let get savaged by a mountain cat.” Marius jested with a smile as he turned and walked towards one of the tables on their left, Lian couldn’t quite see what he was doing. “You’ll need these as well, I think. To make sure the bastard stays down.”

Marius turned, revealing a set of two new and yet familiar weapons. The haft on each one of the sickle-blades was masterfully carved from ash and gracefully curved halfway down to the pommel. As he took the weapons that his old friend offered, he noticed they were expertly carved: smooth as silk save for the light scoring that had been cut into the wood to give him grip. He was speechless as he admired the craftsmanship and his mouth hung open as his eyes followed the wavy patterns in the dark grain to the blade itself, its shape a sweeping crescent of twilight-coloured metal. The masterfully forged Lazurite was iridescent, shifting constantly in its hue from a dark blue to purple in the light. 

He tested the sharpness of his new blades carefully against his thumb, feeling the keen edge but not letting it break the skin. Then he moved away from the other three, into an open space in the Undercroft’s expanse, so he could practice with his new weapons. He held them out in front of him in perfect stillness before exploding into movement, making swift jabs and whirling slashes, weaving in high kicks and whipping around a second imaginary target. The new blades made a satisfying whistle as they cut through the air.

As he returned his sickle-blades to their belt loops at his hips he smiled and shook his head. “I’m speechless, Harrit, Dagna… this is,” He flexed his fingers again, still amazed at how much better they felt than his old pair. “ _ Amazing  _ craftsmanship. We’re very lucky to have you two,”

“Think nothing of it, Inquisitor.” the older man waved away the compliment. “It was a task worth doing.”

“It was fun too!” Dagna piped up, to which Harrit only grunted.    
  
“Glad they meet with your approval, Little Brother.” Marius smiled, his massive arms folded across his chest. “Now come on, you can give them a proper workout in the training yard. But don’t forget we’re leaving soon and you’ll still need to pack any non-essentials and personal items before we’re off, don’t want to have to come and fetch you like my tutor used to have to do when I spent too long practicing my swordplay.” Turning once more, Marius picked up and then tossed across a pair of broad leather belts. “Don’t forget these either.” 

Catching them expertly, Lian was surprised by the weight. But as he turned them over, his smile returned. Throwing knives, a full matched set to replace the ones he’d lost. Sliding one from the row of sheathes stitched into the belts, he saw the same iridescent blue sheen of Lazurite. Sliding it back, he slung the pair of belts over a shoulder - he’d strap them on later - Lian nodded both his thanks and understanding. 

With words of farewell and further gratitude to both the smith and the arcanist, Lian followed his old friend out of the undercroft and headed for his chambers. He had few personal possessions, but they were all portable and he knew he’d miss them if he went to Crestwood without them. As he climbed the stairs, truly getting a feel for Marius’ surprise and starting to break the new boots in properly, he smiled, feeling more at ease than he had since he’d gotten up that morning and read the Keeper’s letter. 

* * *

Some time later, having packed his things and gotten some more practice in with his new sickle-blades and the throwing knives he now had strapped to his thighs, Lian made his way down the flight of steps that led down from Skyhold’s upper ward to the castle bailey. Passing beneath the massive stone walkway that linked the keep proper to one of the great towers, which was aswarm with activity as builders and masons toiled to repair and restore it, he found the others already at the stables, their horses ready. 

Ranulf was attending to things, carrying out last minute checks of several baggage animals with the aid of Blackwall, whilst Varric and Dorian stood talking, each of them leaning against the stone wall with their horses’ reins in hand. Beside them, Solas stood with a set of reins in each hand, talking low to Cole as he probably explained the concept of riding, while the Iron Bull cast wary glances in the spirit-boy’s direction, otherwise saying nothing as he attended to a massive - if decidedly unhappy looking - draught horse.

The captain of Marius’ Ironsides was there too, attending to a great charger that wasn’t barded for battle, though its chamfrom was nonetheless surmounted by two curling rams’ horns of black iron. The captain was tall, maybe a good two inches over six feet if he were to guess. Gregor’s face was textured with old grooves and scars, some covering even older ones. The look in his grey eyes spoke of a lifetime full of experiences and countless battles. The intensity of his eyes intimidated Lian and they reminded him of his father, eerily. 

Yet, in the short time that he’d known Gregor, he’d gotten the feeling that the man was genuine and dutiful. His demeanor, the way he responded to Marius and the way he carried out his tasks to the ferocity he fought at Haven with, told Lian he was loyal to Marius and through that loyalty, loyal to  _ him _ . It’d been months since the man had insisted they traveled with an escort of at least fifty Ironsides and the same number of regular Inquisition horsemen and Marius had agreed with him. Despite having never travelled under a similar escort before, Lian’d agreed. He trusted Marius knew what he was doing when it came to things like this. 

Marius himself was stood at the far edge of the group, resplendent in his golden armour and with his greatsword strapped to the saddle of his white stallion, which like Gregor’s horse was not yet clad in its own armour. Upon the saddle’s horn rested his lion helm, its golden head and silver fangs glinting in the strengthening sunlight. His old friend was talking with Cassandra, who was stood beside him with her own horse, a fine-looking bay gelding.

Lian actually blinked at the sight. Whatever they were talking about, Cassandra was  _ smiling _ . Not the small little kink of her lips he’d seen before on rare occasions, but a broad genuine smile. With teeth and everything. He squinted, momentarily confused before he started to wonder what it was they were talking about. The soft glint in her eyes and that kind of smile was not the result of a simple conversation. Just as an unpleasant feeling started to worm its way into his chest Munchy bellowed noisily, doubtlessly wanting his favourite treat, which eradicated any thought of a discrete approach to the group. Lian couldn’t help but smile at the Hart whose tongue was poking out beneath his nose. 

The sound drew Varric and Dorian’s attention from their conversation to him and Dorian straightened his back and grinned, bumping up a corner of his moustache as he crossed his arms.

“ _ Inquisitor! _ ” He greeted him once as he drew near, his brows raised in mock surprise. “You  _ do  _ have a good sense of fashion after all!” 

Lian narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Despite his best efforts, he wasn’t able to stop crooking a corner of his lips into a smile as he walked up to his mount.

“I hope Munchy wasn’t too much trouble for you, Master Dennet,” Lian quipped, unable to suppress a lopsided grin at the slightly wary expression on the horse master’s face as he took the reins from him.

Dennet breathed in as he eyed the hart in question and exhaled as he crossed his arms. “Not at all, Inquisitor,”

As he scratched behind his hart’s ears, Lian heard Marius speak up, his conversation with Cassandra evidently done. “Is the escort ready, Gregor?” 

“Mounted up and waiting down below, my Lord.” the grizzled captain answered. “Their supply horses too.” 

“Well then, Inquisitor,” Marius’ voice was strong, the irony he’d put into the title earlier that morning gone and replaced with genuine respect and it made Lian turn to look at him. “To Crestwood then?” 

Lian didn’t answer, found that he  _ couldn’t  _ answer. All of them were waiting for his word and it wouldn’t come. Lian felt his breath escape him at the sight of the Inquisition’s-  _ his  _ forces waiting for him to lead them. Everyone was looking to  _ him  _ to guide  _ them  _ and the thought of that gripped his chest in an iron vice and stopped his words. 

_ What if I let them all down? What if I fail them?  _

Then he looked to Marius and his old friend held his gaze. Without speaking, he encouraged him. The confidence in his eyes seemed to flow into him, lessening the tightness in his chest. Lian blinked, shaking away the doubt, and when he spoke he made a conscious effort to make his voice carry clear and loud. “Yes, Commander. To Crestwood.” 

Then, taking a firm grip of Munchy’s reins and with a deep breath, he walked the beast towards the gate and the great lift beyond. 

And they all followed behind him. 


End file.
